J.D. Robb - Eve Dallas 03 Immortal In Death v1.2
Immortal In Death
J.D. Robb
Hmmm, looks like another genie got out of the bottle
Me
Mystery And Detective

[version 1.2 - 02/01/02 - reformatted, read in detail,
typos fixed.]

Immortal In Death

by J. D. Robb

Copyright ©
1996

-=O=-***-=O=-

*** The
fatal gift of beauty

-- Byron

Make me
immortal with a kiss.

-- Christopher
Marlowe

*** CHAPTER ONE ***

Getting
married was murder. Eve wasn't sure how it had happened in the first place. She
was a cop, for God's sake. Throughout her ten years on the force, she'd firmly
believed cops should stay single, unencumbered, and focused utterly on the job.
It was insane to believe one person could split time, energy, and emotion
between law, with all its rights and wrongs, and family, with all its demands
and personalities.

Both careers
-- and from what she'd observed, marriage was a job -- had impossible demands
and hellish hours. It might have been 2058, an enlightened time of
technological advancement, but marriage was still marriage. To Eve it
translated to terror.

Yet here she
was on a fine day in high summer -- one of her rare and precious days off --
preparing to go shopping. She couldn't stop the shudder.

Not just
shopping, she reminded herself as her stomach clutched, shopping for a wedding
dress.

Obviously
she'd lost her mind.

It was
Roarke's doing, of course. He'd caught her at a weak moment. Both of them
bleeding and bruised and lucky to be alive. When a man is clever enough and
knows his quarry well enough to choose such a time and place to propose
marriage, well, a woman was a goner.

At least a
woman like Eve Dallas.

“You look like
you're about to take on a gang of chemi-thugs bare-handed.”

Eve tugged on
a shoe, flicked her gaze up and over. He was entirely too attractive, she
thought. Criminally so. The strong face, poet's mouth, killer blue eyes. The
wizard's mane of thick black hair. If you managed to get past the face to the
body, it was equally impressive. Then you added that faint wisp of Ireland in
the voice, and, well, you had one hell of a package.

“What I'm
about to take on is worse than any chemi-head.” Hearing the whine in her own
voice, Eve scowled. She never whined. But the truth was, she'd have preferred
fighting hand to hand with a souped-up addict than discussing hemlines.

Hemlines, for
sweet Christ's sake.

She bit back
an oath, watching him narrowly as he crossed the spacious bedroom. He had a way
of making her feel foolish at odd times. Like now as he sat beside her on the
high, wide bed they shared.

He caught her
chin in his hand. “I'm hopelessly in love with you.”

There he was.
This man with the sinfully blue eyes, the strong, gorgeous, somehow Raphaelite
looks of a doomed angel, loved her.

“Roarke.” She
struggled to hold back a sigh. She could and had faced an armed laser in the
hands of a mad mutant mercenary with less fear than she faced such unswerving
emotion. “I'm going through with it. I said I would.”

His brow
quirked, dark and wry. He wondered how she remained so unaware of her own
appeal as she sat there, fretting, her poorly cut fawn-colored hair standing up
in tufts and spikes, aroused by her restless hands, thin lines of annoyance and
doubt running between her big, whiskey-colored eyes.

“Darling Eve.”
He kissed her, lightly, once on the frowning lips, then again in the gentle dip
in her chin. “I never doubted it.” Though he had, constantly. “I've several
things I have to see to today. You were late last night. I never had a chance
to ask if you had plans.”

“The stakeout
on the Bines case went to after oh three hundred.”

“Did you get
him?”

“Walked right
into my arms -- blissed on dreamers and a marathon VR session.” She smiled, but
it was the hunter's smile, dark and feral. “Murdering little bastard came along
like my personal droid.”

“Well, then.”
He patted her shoulder before rising. He stepped down from the platform into
the dressing area where he pondered a selection of jackets. “And today? Reports
to file?”

“I'm off
today.”

“Oh?”
Distracted, he turned back, a gorgeous silk jacket in deep charcoal in his
hand. “I can reschedule some of my afternoon, if you like.”

Which would
be, Eve mused, a bit like a general rescheduling battles. In Roarke's world,
business was a complicated and profitable war. “I'm already booked.” The scowl
snuck back on her before she could stop it. “Shopping,” she muttered. “Wedding
dress.”

Now he smiled,
quickly, easily. From her, such plans were a declaration of love. “No wonder
you're so cranky. I told you I'd see to it.”

“I'll pick out
my own wedding dress. And I'll buy it myself. I'm not marrying you for your
damn money.”

Smooth and
elegant as the jacket he slipped on, he continued to smile. “Why are you
marrying me, Lieutenant?” Her scowl deepened, but he was, above all, a patient
man. “Want a multiple choice?”

“Because you
never take no for an answer.” She stood, shoving her hands into the front
pockets of her jeans.

“You only get
a half point for that. Try again.”

“Because I've
lost my mind.”

“That won't
win you the trip for two to Tropic World on Star 50.”

A reluctant
smile tugged at her lips. “Maybe I love you.”

“Maybe you
do.” Content with that, he crossed back to her and laid his hands on her strong
shoulders. “How bad can it be? You can pop a few shopping programs into the
computer, look at dozens of suitable dresses, order in what appeals to you.”

“That was my
idea.” She rolled her eyes. “Mavis ditched it.”

“Mavis.” He
paled a bit. “Eve, tell me you're not going shopping with Mavis.”

His reaction
brightened her mood a little. “She has this friend. He's a designer.”

“Dear Christ.”

“She says he's
mag. Just needs a break to make a name for himself. He has a little workshop in
Soho.”

“Let's elope.
Now. You look fine.”

Her grin
flashed. “Scared?”

“Terrified.”

“Good. Now
we're even.” Delighted to be on level footing, she leaned in and kissed him.
“Now you can worry about what I'll be wearing on the big day for the next few
weeks. Gotta go.” She patted his cheek. “I'm meeting her in twenty minutes.”

“Eve.” Roarke
grabbed for her hand. “You wouldn't do something ridiculous?''

She tugged her
way free. “I'm getting married, aren't I? What could be more ridiculous?”

-=O=-***-=O=-

She hoped he
stewed over it all day. The idea of marriage was daunting enough, but a wedding
-- clothes, flowers, music, people. It was horrifying.

She zipped
downtown on Lex, braking hard and muttering curses at a sidewalk vendor who
encroached on the lane with his smoking glide cart. The traffic violation was
bad enough, but the scent of overcooked soydogs hit her nervous stomach like
lead.

The Rapid cab
behind her broke the intercity noise pollution code by blasting his horn and
shouting curses through his speaker. A group, obviously tourists, loaded down
with palm cams, compumaps, and binoks gaped stupidly at the whizzing traffic.
Eve shook her head as a quick-fingered street thief elbowed through them.

When they got
back to their hotel, they were going to find themselves several credits poorer.
If she'd had the time and a place to pull over, she might have given the thief
a chase. But he was lost in the crowd and a block across town on his air skates
before she could blink.

That was New
York, she thought with a faint smile. Take it at your own risk.

She loved the
crowds, the noise, the constant frantic rush of it. You were rarely alone, but
never intimate. That's why she'd come here so many years ago.

No, she wasn't
a social animal, but too much space and too much solitude made her nervous.

She'd come to
New York to be a cop, because she believed in order, needed it to survive. Her
miserable and abusive childhood with all its blank spaces and dark corners
couldn't be changed. But she had changed. She had taken control, had made
herself into the person some anonymous social worker had named Eve Dallas.

Now she was
changing again. In a few weeks she wouldn't just be Eve Dallas, lieutenant,
homicide. She'd be Roarke's wife. How she would manage to be both was more of a
mystery to her than any case that had ever come across her desk.

Neither of
them knew what it was to be family, to have family, to make a family. They knew
cruelty, abuse, abandonment. She wondered if that was why they had come
together. They both understood what it was to have nothing, to be nothing, to
know fear and hunger and despair -- and both had remade themselves.

Was it just
mutual need that attracted them? Need for sex, for love, and the melding of the
two that she had never thought was possible before Roarke.

A question
for Dr. Mira, she mused, thinking of
the police psychiatrist she often consulted.

But for now,
Eve determined that she wasn't going to think about the future or the past. The
moment was complicated enough.

Three blocks
from Greene Street, she seized her chance and squeezed into a parking space.
After searching through her pockets, she found the credit tokens the aging
meter demanded in its moronic and static jumbled tones and plugged in enough
for two hours.

If it took any
more than that, she'd be ready for a tranq room and a parking citation wouldn't
bother her in the least.

Taking a deep
breath, she scanned the area. She wasn't called this far downtown often.
Murders happened everywhere, but Soho was an arty bastion for the young and
struggling who more often debated their disagreements over tiny glasses of
cheap wine or cups of cafe noir.

Just now, Soho
was full of summer. Flower vendors burst with roses, the classic reds and pinks
vying with the hybrid stripes. Traffic droned and chugged on the street,
rumbled overhead, puffed a bit on the rickety passovers. Pedestrians stuck
mostly with the scenic sidewalks, though the people glides were busy. The
flowing robes currently hot from Europe were much in evidence, with arty
sandals, headdresses, and shiny ropes swinging from earlobes to shoulder
blades.

Oil,
watercolor, and compu artists hawked their wares on corners and in storefronts,
competing with food vendors who promised hybrid fruits, iced yogurts, or
vegetable purees uncontaminated by preservatives.

Members of the
Pure Sect, a Soho staple, glided in their snowy, street-dusting gowns, their
eyes glowing and their heads shaved. Eve gave one particularly devout-looking
supplicant a few tokens and was rewarded with a beatific smile and a glossy
pebble.

“Pure love,”
the devotee offered her. “Pure joy.”

“Yeah, right,”
Eve murmured and sidestepped.

She had to
backtrack to find Leonardo's. The up-and-coming designer had a third-floor
loft. The window that faced the street was crammed with fashions, blots and
flows of color and form that had Eve swallowing nervously. Her taste leaned
toward the plain -- the drab, according to Mavis.

It didn't
appear, as she took the people glide up to get a closer look, that Leonardo
leaned toward either.

The clutching
in her stomach came back with a vengeance as she stared at the window display
with its feathers and beads and dyed rubber unisuits. However much pleasure she
would get from making Roarke wince, she wasn't getting married in neon rubber.

There was
more, a great deal more. It seemed Leonardo believed in advertising in a big
way. His centerpiece, a ghostly white faceless model, was draped in a
collection of transparent scarves that shimmered so dramatically that the
material seemed alive.

Eve could all
but feel it crawling over her skin.

Uh-uh, she thought. No way in heaven or hell. She
turned, thinking only of escape, and rapped straight into Mavis.

“His stuff is
so frigid.” Mavis slipped a friendly, restraining arm around Eve's waist and
gazed dreamily into the window.

“Look, Mavis
-- “

“And he's
incredibly creative. I've watched him come up with stuff on screen. It's wild.”

“Yeah, wild.
I'm thinking -- “

“He really
understands the inner soul,” Mavis hurried on. She understood Eve's inner soul,
and knew her friend was ready to bolt. Mavis Freestone, slim as a fairy in her
white and gold rompers and three-inch air platforms, tossed back her curling
mane of white-streaked black hair, judged her opponent, and grinned. “He's
going to make you the most rocking bride in New York.”

“Mavis.” Eve
narrowed her eyes to forestall another interruption. “I just want something
that won't make me feel like an idiot.”

Mavis beamed,
the new winged heart tattoo on her biceps fluttering as she lifted a hand to
her breast. “Dallas, trust me.”

“No,” Eve said
even as Mavis pulled her back to the glide. “I mean it, Mavis. I'll just order
something off screen.”

“Over my dead
body,” Mavis muttered, clumping her way down to the street entrance, dragging
Eve behind her. “The least you can do is look, talk to him. Give the guy a
chance.” She thrust out her bottom lip, a formidable weapon when painted
magenta. “Don't be such a squash, Dallas.”

“Shit, I'm
here, anyway.”

Rushed with
success, Mavis bounced to the whining security camera. “Mavis Freestone and Eve
Dallas, for Leonardo.”

The outer door
opened with a grinding clunk. Mavis made a beeline for the old wire-screened
elevator. “This place is really into retro. I think Leonardo might even stay
here after he hits. You know, eccentric artist and all that.”

“Right.” Eve
closed her eyes and prayed as the elevator bumped its way upward. She was
taking the stairs down, absolutely.

“Now, keep an
open mind,” Mavis ordered, “and let Leonardo take care of you. Darling!” She
positively flowed out of the dinky elevator and into a cluttered, colorful
space. Eve had to admire her.

“Mavis, my
dove.”

Then Eve was
struck dumb. The man with the artist's name was six-five if he was an inch and
built like a maxibus. Huge, rippling biceps mountained out of a sleeveless robe
in the eye-searing colors of a Martian sunset. His face was wide as the moon,
its copper-toned skin stretched tight as a drumhead over razor-edged
cheekbones. He had a small, glinting stone winking beside his flashing grin and
eyes like gold coins.

He swirled
Mavis into his arms, off her feet, and around in one fast and graceful circle.
And he kissed her, long, hard, and in a fashion that warned Eve the two of them
had a great deal more going on than a mutual love of fashion and art.

“Leonardo.”
Beaming like a fool, Mavis ran her gold-tipped fingers through his tight,
shoulder-length curls.

“Babydoll.”

Eve managed
not to gag as they cooed at each other, but she did roll her eyes. She was
stuck now, without a doubt. Mavis was in love again.

“The hair,
it's wonderful.” Leonardo ran loving fingers, the size of soydogs, through
Mavis's streaked mop.

“I hoped you'd
like it. This...” There was a dramatic pause, as though she were about to
introduce her awardwinning schnauzer. “Is Dallas.”

“Ah yes, the
bride. Lovely to meet you, Lieutenant Dallas.” He kept one arm around Mavis and
shot the other out to take Eve's hand. “Mavis has told me so much about you.”

“Yeah.” Eve
slanted a look toward her friend. “She's been a little light on details on
you.”

He laughed, a
booming sound that made Eve's ears ring even as her lips twitched in response.
“My turtledove can be secretive. Refreshments,” he stated, then whirled off in
a cloud of color and unexpected grace.

“He's
wonderful, isn't he?” Mavis whispered, eyes dancing with love.

“You're
sleeping with him.”

“You wouldn't
believe how... inventive he is. How...” Mavis blew out a breath, patted her
breast. “The man is a sexual artist.”

“I don't want
to hear about it. Absolutely don't want to hear about it.” Drawing her brows
together, Eve scanned the room.

It was wide,
high ceilinged, and crowded with flows and streams of material. Fuchsia
rainbows, ebony waterfalls, chartreuse pools dripped from the ceiling, along
the walls, over tabletops and arms of chairs.

“Jesus,” was
all she could manage.

Bowls and
trays of glittering ribbons, tapes, and buttons were piled everywhere. Sashes,
belts, hats, and veils crowded with half-finished outfits of shimmering
materials and studded bodices.

The place
smelled like an incense farm married to a flower shop.

She was
terrified.

A little pale,
Eve turned back. “Mavis, I love you. Maybe I haven't told you that before, but
I do. Now I'm leaving.”

“Dallas.” With
a quick giggle, Mavis grabbed her arm. For a small woman, Mavis was amazingly
strong. “Relax. Take a breath. I guarantee Leonardo's going to fix you up.”

“That's what
I'm afraid of, Mavis. Deeply afraid.”

“Lemon tea,
iced,” Leonardo announced with a musical lilt as he came back through a curtain
of draping simulated silk with a tray and glasses. “Please, please, sit. First
we'll relax, get to know each other.”

With her eye
on the door, Eve edged toward a chair. “Look, Leonardo, Mavis might not have
explained things, exactly. See, I'm -- “

“You're a
homicide detective. I've read about you,” Leonardo said smoothly, snuggling on a
curve-sided settee with Mavis all but in his lap. “Your last case generated a
great deal of media. I must confess I was fascinated. You work with puzzles,
Lieutenant, as I do.”

Eve sampled
the tea, nearly blinked when she discovered it was full-bodied, rich, and
wonderful. “You work with puzzles?”

“Naturally. I
see a woman, I imagine how I would like to see her dressed. Then I must
discover who she is, what she is, how does she live her life. What are her
hopes, her fantasies, her vision of herself? Then I must take all of that,
piece each part of her together to create the look. The image. At first, she is
a mystery, and I'm compelled to solve her.”

Unashamed,
Mavis sighed lustily. “Isn't he mag, Dallas?”

Leonardo
chuckled, nuzzled Mavis's ear. “Your friend is worried, my dove. She think I'll
wrap her in electric pink and spangles.”

“It sounds
wonderful.”

“For you.” He
beamed back at Eve. “So you're going to marry the elusive and powerful Roarke.”

“It looks that
way,” Eve muttered.

“You met him
on a case. The DeBlass case, correct? And intrigued him with your tawny eyes
and serious smile.”

“I wouldn't
say I -- “

“You
wouldn't,” Leonardo continued, “because you don't see yourself as he does. Or
as I do. Strong, valiant, troubled, dependable.”

“Are you a
designer or an analyst?” Eve demanded.

“You can't be
one without the other. Tell me, lieutenant, how did Roarke win you?”

“I'm not a
prize.” She snapped it, then set her glass aside.

“Wonderful.”
He clasped his hands together and almost wept. “Heat and independence, and just
a little fear. You'll make a magnificent bride. Now to work.” He rose. “Come
with me.”

She stood up.
“Listen, there's no point in wasting your time, or mine. I'm just going to -- “

“Come with
me,” he repeated and took her hand.

“Give it a
chance, Eve.”

For Mavis, she
allowed Leonardo to lead her under and around falls of material and into an
equally cluttered workstation on the far side of the loft.

The computer
made her feel a little better. Those she understood. But the drawings it had
generated, which were pinned and tacked to every available space, made her
heart sink.

Fuchsia and
spangles would have been a relief.

The models
with their long, exaggerated bodies looked like mutants. Some were sporting
feathers, others stones. A few were wearing what could have been clothes, but
in such outrageous styles -- pointed collars, skirts the size of washcloths,
unisuits snug as skin -- they looked like participants in a Halloween parade.

“Examples for
my first show. High fashion is a twist on reality, you see. The bold, the
unique, the impossible.”

“I love them.”

Eve curled her
lip at Mavis and folded her arms. “It's going to be a small, simple ceremony,
at home.”

“Um.” Leonardo
was already at his computer, using the keyboard with impressive skill. “Now
this...” He brought up an image that made Eve's blood chill.

The dress was
the color of fresh urine, ringed with flounces of mud brown from its scalloped
neck to its knifepoint hem that dripped with stones the size of a child's fist.
The sleeves were so snug Eve was certain anyone wearing it would loose all
feeling in their fingers.

As the image
turned, she was treated to a view of the back, dipping past the waist and
trimmed in floaty feathers.

“... is not at
all for you,” Leonardo finished, and indulged in a deep belly laugh at Eve's
blanched skin. “I apologize. I couldn't resist. For you... just a sketch, you
understand. Slim, long, simple. Only a column. Not too delicate.”

He continued
to speak as he worked. On the screen, lines and shapes began to form. Sticking
her hands in her pockets, Eve watched.

It looked so
easy, Eve mused. Long lines, the most subtle of accents at the bodice, sleeves
that came to soft, rounded points just at the back of the hand. Still uneasy,
she waited for him to start to add the gingerbread.

“We'll fuss
with it a bit,” he said absently, and again turned the image to show a back as
sleek and elegant as the front, with a slit to the knees. “You wouldn't want a
train.”

“A train?”

“No.” He only
smiled, flicking a glance up at her. “You wouldn't. A headdress. Your hair.”

Used to
derogatory comments, Eve ran her fingers through it. “I can cover it up if I
have to.”

“No, no, no.
It suits you.”

Her hand
dropped in shock. “It does?”

“Indeed. You
need a bit of shaping. I know someone -- “ He flicked that aside. “But the
color, all those tones of brown and gold, and the short, not quite tamed style
is very good on you. A couple of snips.” Eyes narrowed, he studied her. “No, no
headdress, no veil. Your face is enough. Now, color and material. It must be
silk, of a good weight.” He grimaced a little. “Mavis tells me Roarke will not
be paying.”

Eve's back
went up. “It's my dress.”

“She's dug in
on this one,” Mavis commented. “Like Roarke would notice a few thousand
credits.”

“That's not
the point -- “

“No, indeed
not.” Leonardo smiled again. “Well, we'll manage. Color? I don't think white,
too stark for your skin tone.”

Pursing his
lips, he went to his palette key and experimented. Fascinated despite herself,
Eve watched the sketch turn from snowy white to cream, to pale blue, to vivid
green and a rainbow between. Though Mavis oohed and ahed over several choices,
he only shook his head.

He settled on
bronze.

“This. Yes, oh
yes. Your skin, your eyes, your hair. You'll be radiant, majestic. A goddess.
With it you'll need a necklace, at least thirty-inch length. Better yet, two
lengths, twenty-four and thirty inches. Copper, I think, with colored stones.
Rubies, citrine, onyx. Yes, yes, and carnelian, perhaps some tourmaline. You'll
speak to Roarke about the accessories.”

Clothes never
meant a damn to her, but Eve caught herself yearning. “It's beautiful,” she
said cautiously and began to calculate her credit situation. “I'm just not
sure. You know, silk... It's a little out of my range.”

“You'll have
the dress at my cost, and for a promise.” He enjoyed watching the wariness come
into her eyes. “That I will be allowed to design Mavis's dress as your
attendant, and you will use my designs for your trousseau.”

“I haven't
thought about a trousseau. I've got clothes.”

“Lieutenant
Dallas has clothes,” he corrected. “Roarke's partner in marriage will need
others.”

“Maybe we can
make a deal.” She wanted that damn dress, she realized. She could feel it on
her.

“Wonderful.
Take off your clothes.”

She snapped
back like a spring. “Okay, asshole -- “

“For the
measurements,” Leonardo said quickly. The look in her eye had him rising,
stepping back. He was a man who adored women, and understood their wrath. In
other words, he feared them. “You must consider me as you would your health
provider. I can't design the dress properly until I know your body. I'm an
artist, and a gentleman,” he said with dignity. “But Mavis can stay if you feel
uneasy.”

Eve tilted her
head. “I can handle you, pal. If you get out of line, even think about it,
you'll find out for yourself.”

“I'm sure of
it.” Cautiously he picked up a device. “My scanner,” he explained. “It will
measure you very accurately. But you have to be naked for a true reading.”

“Stop
snickering, Mavis. Go get us some more of that tea.”

“Sure. I've
already seen you naked, anyway.” Blowing kisses to Leonardo, she headed off.

“I have other
ideas... about clothes,” Leonardo said when Eve narrowed her eyes. “The
underfoundation for the dress, of course. Evening and day wear, the formal, the
casual. Your honeymoon is where?”

“I don't know.
I haven't thought about it.” Resigned, she took off her shoes, unhitched her
jeans.

“Roarke will
surprise you then. Computer, create file, Dallas, first doc, measurements, coloring,
height, and weight.” After she'd tossed her shirt aside, he stepped forward
with the scanner. “Feet together please. Height, five foot nine inches, weight,
one hundred and twenty.”

“How long have
you been sleeping with Mavis?”

He rattled off
more data. “About two weeks. She's very dear to me. Waist twenty-six point two
inches.”

“Did you start
sleeping with her before or after she told you her best friend was marrying
Roarke?”

He stopped
cold, and his brilliant gold eyes glittered with temper. “I am not using Mavis
for a commission, and you insult her by thinking it.”

“Just
checking. She's very dear to me, too. If we're going to deal on this, I want to
make sure all the cards are faceup, that's all. So -- “

The
interruption came in fast, and came in furious. A woman in skintight, unadorned
black burst in like a comet, perfect teeth bared, lethal red nails curled into
talons.

“You
two-timing, back-stabbing, mother-fucking son of a bitch.” She made her leap,
rather like a gorgeous mortar locked on target, and with a speed and grace
brought on by pure fear, Leonardo evaded. “Pandora, I can explain -- “

“Explain
this.” Turning her wrath on Eve, she swiped out, barely missing scooping Eve's
eyes out of their sockets.

There was only
one thing to do. Eve decked her.

“Oh Jesus, oh
Jesus.” Leonardo hunched his huge shoulders and wrung his ham-size hands.

*** CHAPTER TWO ***

“Did you have
to hit her?”

Eve watched
the woman's eyes roll back, then roll forward. “Yeah.”

Leonardo set
down his scanner and sighed. “She's going to make my life a living hell.”

“My face, my
face.” As she teetered back into full consciousness, Pandora scrambled up,
patting her jaw. “Is it bruised? Does it show? I've got a session in an hour.”

Eve shrugged.
“Tough luck.”

Jumping from
mood to mood like a crazed gazelle, Pandora hissed through her teeth, “I'll
ruin you, bitch. You'll never work on screen, on disc, and you sure as hell
won't get a runway job. Do you know who I am?''

Being naked
under the circumstances just added to Eve's mood. “Do you think I care?”

“What's going
on? Damn it, Dallas, he's just trying to fit you -- Oh.” Hurrying in with
glasses in both hands, Mavis stopped dead. “Pandora.”

“You.”
Obviously, Pandora's supply of venom wasn't running low. She sprang at Mavis,
sending glasses crashing, tea flying. In seconds, the two women were wrestling
on the floor and tearing at each other's hair.

“Oh, for
Christ's sake.” If she'd had a stunner on her, Eve would have used it on the
pair of them. “Break it up. Goddamn it, Leonardo, give me a hand here before
they kill each other.” Eve dived in, pulling at arms and legs. She gave Pandora
an extra elbow jab to the ribs for her own enjoyment. “I'll haul you into a
cage, I swear to God.” For lack of anything else, she sat on Pandora and tugged
over her jeans to get her badge out of the pocket. “Take a good look, you
idiot. I'm a cop. So far, you've got two counts of assault. Want to go for
three?”

“Get your
bony, naked ass off me.”

It wasn't the
order but the relative calm with which it was delivered that had Eve shifting.
Pandora rose, brushed her hands meticulously down her black skin suit, sniffed,
tossed her luxurious mane of flame-colored hair, then aimed a frigid glare with
heavily lashed emerald eyes.

“So, one at a
time's not enough for you anymore, Leonardo. You scum.” Sculpted chin lifted,
she cast a scornful look at Eve, then at Mavis. “Your appetite might be
increasing, darling, but your taste is deteriorating.”

“Pandora.”
Shaken, still wary of attack, Leonardo moistened his lips. “I said I can
explain. Lieutenant Dallas is a client.”

She spit like
a cobra. “Is that what you're calling them now? You think you can just toss me
aside like yesterday's news, Leonardo? I say when it's over.”

Limping a
little, Mavis walked to Leonardo, slipped an arm around his waist. “He doesn't
need you or want you.”

“I don't give
a damn what he wants. But need?” Her full lips curved into a nasty smile.
“He'll have to tell you the facts of life, little girl. Without me, there won't
be any show next month for his second-rate clothes. And without a show, he's
not going to make any sales, and without sales, he won't be able to pay for all
that material, all that inventory, and that nice, fat loan he took from the leg
breakers.”

She took a
deep breath and studied the nails she'd chipped. Fury seemed to fit her as
cleanly as her black skin suit. “This is going to cost you big time, Leonardo.
I've got a busy calendar for the next couple of days, but I'm going to find a
way to squeeze in some time to have a chat with your backers. What do you think
they'll say when I tell them I simply can't lower my standards to walking the
runway in your designs? Inferior as they are.”

“You can't do
that, Pandora.” Panic was in every word, a panic Eve was sure was for the glowing
redhead like a fix for an addict. “It'll ruin me. I've put everything into this
show. Time, money -- “

“Isn't it a
shame you didn't think of that before you picked up this little piece of navel
lint?” Pandora's eyes narrowed into sharp slits. “I think I can manage to have
lunch with a few of the money men by the end of the week. You've got a couple
of days, darling, to decide how you want to play it. Get rid of the new toy, or
pay the consequences. You know where to reach me.”

She went out
with the exaggerated glide of a model, and punctuated the exit by slamming the
door.

“Oh shit.”
Leonardo sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands. “Her timing is
perfect, as always.”

“Don't. Don't
let her do this to you. To us.” Near tears, Mavis crouched down in front of
him. “You can't let her run your life anymore, or blackmail you -- “ Inspired,
Mavis sprang up. “It's blackmail, isn't it, Dallas? Go arrest her.”

Eve finished
buttoning the shirt she'd pulled on. “Honey, I can't arrest her for saying she's
not going to wear his clothes. I can go haul her in for assault, but she'd be
out almost before I closed the door on her.”

“But it is
blackmail. Everything Leonardo's got is tied up in the show. He'll lose
everything without it.”

“I'm sorry.
Really. It's just not a police or security matter.” She dragged her hands
through her hair. “Look, she was hot and pissed off. Hopped on something from
the look of her eyes. Odds are she'll calm down.”

“No.” Leonardo
sat back in the chair. “She'll want to make me pay. You must have understood we
were lovers. Things were cooling off between us. She's been off planet for a
few weeks, and I considered our personal relationship over. Then, I met Mavis.”
His hand found hers, gripped. “And I knew it was over. I spoke with Pandora
briefly, told her. Or tried to.”

“Since Dallas
can't help, there's only one thing to do.” Mavis's chin quivered. “You have to
go back to her. It's the only way.” She added before Leonardo could speak, “We
won't see each other, at least not until after your show. Maybe then, we can
pick up the pieces. You can't let her go to your backers and ditch your
designs.”

“Do you think
I could do that? Be with her? Touch her after this? After you?” He rose.
“Mavis, I love you.”

“Oh.” Her eyes
filled, spilled over. “Oh, Leonardo. Not now. I love you too much to watch her
ruin you. I'm going away. To save you.”

She dashed
out, leaving Leonardo staring after her. “I'm trapped. The vindictive bitch.
She can take everything from me. The woman I love, my work, everything. I could
kill her for putting that look in Mavis's eyes.” He drew a deep breath, looked
at his hands. “A man can be pulled in by beauty and not see beneath it.”

“Does what she
says to these people matter so much? They wouldn't have put money behind you if
they hadn't believed in your work.”

“Pandora is
one of the top models on the planet. She has power, prestige, connections. A
few words from her into the right ear can make or break a man in my position.”
He lifted a hand to a fantasy of net and stones hanging beside him. “If she
goes public, claiming my designs are inferior, the projected sales will drop
away. She knows exactly how to accomplish that. I've worked all my life for
this show. She knows it, and she knows how to take it from me. And it won't end
there.”

His hand fell
back to his side. “Mavis doesn't understand that, not yet. Pandora can hold
that laser beam above my neck for the rest of my professional life -- or hers.
I'll never be free of her, Lieutenant, until she decides she's finished with
me.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

By the time
Eve got home, she was exhausted. An added session of tears and recriminations
with Mavis had sapped her energy. For now, at least, Mavis was comforted with a
quart of ice cream and several hours of videos in Eve's old apartment.

Wanting to
forget emotional upheavals and fashion, Eve went straight to the bedroom and
fell facedown on the bed. The cat Galahad leaped up beside her, purring
manically. After a few head butts brought no reaction, he settled down to
sleep. When Roarke found her, she hadn't moved a muscle.

“So, how was
your day off?”

“I hate
shopping.”

“You just
haven't developed the knack for it.”

“Who wants
to?” Curious, she rolled over, studied him. “You like it. You really like to
just buy things.”

“Sure.” Roarke
stretched out beside her, stroking the cat when it pawed its way onto his
chest. “It's nearly as satisfying as having things. Being poor, Lieutenant,
quite simply sucks.”

She thought it
over. As she'd been poor once, had managed to lever herself up to struggling,
she couldn't disagree. “Anyway, I think I got the worst of it over with.”

“That was
quick.” And the speed worried him, a little. “You know, Eve, you don't have to
settle for something.”

“Actually, I
think Leonardo and I reached an understanding.” Staring up and through the sky
window where the sky was the color of old bleach, she frowned. “Mavis is in
love with him.”

“Um-hmm.” Eyes
half closed, Roarke continued to stroke the cat and thought about switching the
gesture to Eve.

“No, I'm
talking the big one.” She let out a long breath. “The day didn't go exactly
smoothly.”

He had the
figures for three major deals running through his head. Shuttling them aside,
he shifted closer to her. “Tell me about it.”

“Leonardo --
he's this massive, and oddly attractive... I don't know. Event. Heavy on the
Native American blood, at a guess. He has the bone structure and coloring of an
NA, biceps like astro torpedoes, and a voice that has a hint of magnolia. I'm
not much of a judge, but when he settled down to sketch, he seemed very focused
and talented. Anyway, I was standing there naked -- “

“Were you?”
Roarke said mildly, and nudging the cat away, he rolled on top of her.

“For
measurements,” she said with a sneer.

“Do go on.”

“Okay. Mavis was
getting some tea -- “

“Convenient.”

“And this
woman bursts in, all but drooling at the mouth. A jaw dropper -- close to six
foot, thin as a laser beam, about a yard of red hair and a face... well, I'll
use magnolias again. She's screaming at him, and this big bull of a guy cowers
back, so she jumps at me. I had to flatten her.”

“You hit her.”

“Well, yeah,
before she sliced my face with those knifepoint nails of hers.”

“Darling Eve.”
He kissed her cheek, then the other, then the dent in her chin. “What is it
about you that draws the beast out of people?”

“Just lucky, I
guess. So, this Pandora -- “

“Pandora?” His
head came up, eyes narrowing. “The model.”

“Yeah, she's
supposed to be pretty hot shit.”

He started to
laugh, just a chuckle at first that grew and swelled until he had to roll over
on his back again. “You punched precious Pandora in her billion-dollar face.
Did you knock her on her pretty ass?”

“As a matter
of fact.” Understanding bloomed and with it a surprising and unexpected twinge
of jealousy. “You know her.”

“You could say
that.”

“Well.”

He cocked a
brow, not so much warily as with amusement. She was sitting up now and scowling
down at him. For the first time in their relationship, he sensed a hint of
green in the look. “There was a time -- briefly.” He scratched his chin. “It's
all very vague.”

“Bull.”

“It could come
back to me. But you were saying?”

“Is there any
exceptionally beautiful woman you haven't slept with?”

“I'll make you
a list. So, you knocked her down.”

“Yeah.” Eve
regretted now pulling her punch. “She's squealing and whining, then Mavis comes
in and Pandora goes for her. The two of them are pulling hair and scratching;
Leonardo's wringing his hands.”

Roarke tugged
her down on top of him. “You lead such an interesting life.”

“The upshot
is, Pandora threatens Leonardo: he ditches Mavis for her or she's going to
wreck this fashion show he's counting on. Apparently he's sunk everything into
it, borrowed from spine crackers, too. She blackballs the show, he's ruined.”

“Sounds just
like her.”

“After Pandora
leaves, Mavis -- “

“Were you
still naked?”

“I was getting
dressed. Mavis decides to make the supreme sacrifice. It was all pretty
dramatic stuff. Leonardo declares his love, she starts crying and runs out.
Jesus, Roarke, I felt like some pervert with surveillance goggles. I got Mavis
settled in my old apartment, at least for the night. She doesn't have to be in
to the club until tomorrow.”

“Stay tuned,”
he murmured and smiled at her blank look. “The old daytime dramas. Always end
on a cliff-hanger. What is our hero going to do?”

“Some hero,”
Eve muttered. “Damn it, I like him, even if he is a pussy. What he'd like to do
is bash Pandora's head in, but he'll probably cave. Which is why I thought we
could put Mavis up here for a few days if she needs it.”

“Sure.”

“Really?”

“It is, as
you've often pointed out, a big house. I'm fond of Mavis.”

“I know.” She
gave him one of her quick, rare smiles. “Thanks. So, how was your day?”

“I bought a
small planet. I'm joking,” he said when her mouth fell open. “I did, however,
complete negotiations for a farming commune on Taurus Five.”

“Farming?”

“People have
to eat. With a bit of restructuring, the commune should be able to provide
grain to the manufacturing colonies of Mars, where I have a sizable investment.
So, one hand washes the other.”

“I guess. Now
about Pandora...”

He rolled her
over and tugged the shirt he'd already unbuttoned off her shoulders.

“You're not
distracting me,” she told him. “Just how brief is brief in this case?''

He gave what
passed for a shrug and nibbled his way from her mouth to her throat.

“Is it like a
night, a week...” Her body flashed hot when he closed his mouth over her
breast. “A month -- Okay, now you're distracting me.”

“I can do
better,” he promised. And did.

-=O=-***-=O=-

Visiting the
morgue was a lousy way to start the day. Eve strode down the silent, white
tiled halls trying not to be annoyed that she'd been called in to view a body
at six A. M.

Worse, it was
a floater.

She paused at
a doorway, holding her badge up for the security camera, and waited for her ID
number to be accessed and approved.

Inside, a
single technician waited near a wall of refrigerated holding drawers. Most
would be occupied, she thought. Summer was always a hot time for dying.

“Lieutenant
Dallas.”

“Right. You
got one for me.”

“Just came
in.” With the careless cheer of his profession, he moved to a drawer, coded for
view. Locks and refrigeration blipped off, and the drawer, with its occupant,
slid out with a small burst of icy fog. “Uniform on scene thought she
recognized him as one of yours.”

“Yep.” In
defense, Eve drew breath in and out of her mouth. Seeing death, violent death,
was nothing new. She wasn't sure she could have explained that it was easier,
less personal somehow, to study a body where it had fallen. Here, in the
pristine, almost virginal surroundings of the morgue, it was all more obscene.

“Johannsen,
Carter. Aka Boomer. Last known address the flop on Beacon. Petty thief,
professional weasel, occasional dealer in illegals, and pitiful excuse for a
humanoid.” She sighed as she studied what was left of him. “Well, hell, Boomer,
what did they do to you?”

“Blunt
instrument,” the tech said, taking her question seriously. “Possibly a pipe or
a thin bat. We'll have to finish testing. A lot of strength behind the blows.
Only spent a couple hours at most in the river; the contusions and lacerations
are evident.”

Eve tuned him
out, let him ramble on importantly. She could see well enough for herself.

He'd never
been a looker, but they'd left behind very little of his face. He'd been
severely beaten, the nose crushed, the mouth all but obscured with blows and
bloating. Bruising at the throat indicated strangulation, as did the vivid
broken blood vessels that polka-dotted what remained of his face.

His torso was
purpled, and from the way his body lay, she guessed his arm had been shattered.
The missing finger of his left hand was an old war wound, one she recalled he'd
been rather proud of.

Somebody
strong, angry, and determined had gotten to poor, pathetic Boomer.

And so, in
that short floating time, had the fish.

“The uniform
ran the partial prints he had left for ID, you confirm with visual.”

“Yeah. Send me
a copy of the post mortem.” She turned and started out. “Who was the uniform
who connected me?”

The tech
pulled out his notebook, tapped keys. “Peabody, Delia.”

“Peabody.” For
the first time, Eve smiled a little. “She gets around. Anybody asks for or
about him, I want to know about it.”

On the way to
Cop Central, Eve contacted Peabody. The uniform's calm, serious face floated on
screen. “Dallas.”

“Yes,
Lieutenant.”

“You hauled in
Johannsen.”

“Sir. I'm
completing my report right now. I can send you a copy.”

“Appreciate
it. How did you tag him?”

“I had a
porta-ident in my field kit, sir. I ran his prints. The fingers were severely
damaged, so I only managed a partial, but the indication was Johannsen. I'd
heard he was one of your weasels.”

“Yeah, he was.
Good work, Peabody.”

“Thank you,
sir.”

“Peabody, you
interested in assisting the primary in this case?''

Control
slipped for an instant, just long enough to show the glint in Peabody's eyes.
“Yes, sir. Are you the primary?”

“He was mine,”
Eve said simply. “I'll clear it. My office, Peabody. One hour.”

“Yes, sir.
Thank you, sir.”

“Dallas,” Eve
muttered. “Just Dallas.” But Peabody had already broken transmission.

-=O=-***-=O=-

Eve scowled at
the time, snarled at the traffic, and detoured three blocks to a drive-through
cafe. The coffee was slightly less disgusting there than at Cop Central. Fueled
with that and with what had probably been intended as a sweet roll, she stowed
her vehicle and prepared to report to her commander.

As she rode up
in the stifling excuse for an elevator, she could feel her back stiffening.
Telling herself it was petty, that it should have been over, didn't seem to
matter. Resentment and hurt left over from a previous case wouldn't completely
fade.

She walked
into the administration lobby with its busy consoles, dark walls, and
threadbare carpeting. She announced herself at Commander Whitney's reception
station and was asked to wait by the bored voice of an office drone.

She remained
where she was rather than wandering over to look out of the window or to while
away time with one of the aging magazine discs. The all-news station on screen
behind her had been turned to mute and didn't interest her in any case.

A few weeks
before, she had more than her fill of the media. At least, she thought, someone
as low on the food chain as Boomer wouldn't generate much publicity. The death
of a weasel didn't earn rating points.

“Commander
Whitney will see you now, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve.”

She was buzzed
through the security doors and turned left into Whitney's office.

“Lieutenant.”

“Commander.
Thank you for seeing me.”

“Have a seat.”

“No, thank
you. I won't keep you long. I just identified a John Doe floater at the morgue.
He was Carter Johannsen. One of my weasels.”

An imposing
man with a hard face and tired eyes, Whitney leaned back in his chair. “Boomer?
He used to wire explosives for street thieves. Blew off his right index
finger.”

“Left,” Eve
corrected. “Sir.”

“Left.”
Whitney folded his hands on the desk and studied her. He'd made a mistake with
Eve, a mistake in a case that had affected him personally. He understood she
had yet to set it aside. He had her obedience and her respect, but the nebulous
friendship that could have existed between them was gone.

“I take it
this was homicide.”

“I haven't
gotten the post mortem, but it appears the victim was beaten and strangled
before entering the river. I'd like to pursue the matter.”

“Were you
working with him on any ongoing investigation?”

“Nothing
ongoing, no sir. He occasionally fed the Illegals with data. I need to find out
who he worked with in that department.”

Whitney
nodded. “Your caseload at the moment, Lieutenant?”

“Manageable.”

“Which means
you're overloaded.” He lifted his fingers, curled them down again. “Dallas,
people like Johannsen court disaster, and they usually find it. You and I both
know the murder rate rises in this kind of heat. I can't waste one of my top
investigators on this kind of case.”

Eve set her
jaw. “He was mine. Whatever else he was, Commander, he was mine.”

Loyalty, he
mused, was one of the values that made her one of his best. “You can shuffle it
to the top for twenty-four hours,” he told her. “Keep it open, in your files,
for seventy-two. After that, I'll have to transfer the case to a junior
investigator.”

It was no more
than she expected. “I'd like to have Officer Peabody with me on it.”

He stared at
her balefully. “You want me to approve an aide for a case like this?”

“I want
Peabody,” Eve returned without flinching. “She's proven herself excellent in
the field. She's aiming for detective. I believe she'll get it quick with some
hands-on training.”

“You can have
her for three days. If something more vital comes through, you're both off.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dallas,” he
began when she turned to leave. He bit down on his pride. “Eve... I haven't had
the chance to offer my best wishes, personally, for your upcoming marriage.”

Surprise
flickered in her eyes before she controlled it. “Thank you.”

“I hope you'll
be happy.”

“So do I.”

A bit
unsettled, she made her way through the maze of Cop Central to her office. She
had another favor to call in. Wanting privacy, she closed her door before
engaging her tele-link.

“Feeney,
Captain Ryan. Electronic Detective Division.”

She was
relieved when his rumpled face filled her screen. “You're in early, Feeney.”

“Shit, didn't
even have time for breakfast.” He spoke mournfully and through a mouthful of
Danish. “One of the terminals springs a leak, and nobody can fix it but me.”

“Being
indispensable's tough work. Can you fit in a search for me -- unofficial?”

“My favorite
kind. Shoot.”

“Somebody
whacked Boomer.”

“Sorry to hear
it.” He took another bite of Danish. “He was a shit, but he usually came
through. When?”

“I'm not sure;
he was fished out of the East River early this morning. I know he sometimes fed
somebody over in Illegals. Can you find out for me?”

“Linking
weasels and their trainers is dicey work, Dallas. You got to be real security
conscious about that stuff.”

“Yes or no,
Feeney?”

“I can do it,
I can do it,” he muttered. “But don't bring this back on me. Cops hate to have
their files searched.”

“Tell me about
it. I appreciate it, Feeney. Whoever did him worked him over hard. If he knew
something worth killing him over, I don't think it was one of my ongoings.”

“So maybe it
was somebody else's. I'll get back to you.”

She leaned
back from the blank screen and tried to clear her mind. Into it floated
Boomer's battered face. A pipe or a bat maybe, she mused. But fists, too. She
knew what hard, bare knuckles could do to a face. She knew what they felt like.

Her father had
had big hands.

It was one of
the things she tried to pretend she didn't remember. But she knew how they'd
felt, how the blow would shock even before the brain registered the pain.

What had been
worse? The beatings or the rapes? One was so mixed with the other in her mind,
in her rears.

That odd angle
of Boomer's arm. Broken, she mused, and dislocated. She had a vague, hideous
memory of the brittle sound of a bone snapping, the nausea that went above the
agony, the high-pitched whine that substituted for a scream when a hand was
clamped over your mouth.

The cold
sweat, and the bowel-loosening terror of knowing those fists would come back,
and come back until you were dead. Until you wished to God Almighty that you
were.

The knock at
her door had her jolting, had her swallowing a yelp. Through the glass she saw
Peabody, uniform pressed, shoulders straight.

Eve ran a hand
over her mouth to steady herself. It was time to go to work.

*** CHAPTER THREE ***

Boomer's flop
was better than some. The building had once been a low-rent hourly motel that
had catered to hookers on a budget before prostitution had been licensed and
legalized. It was four stories, and no one had ever bothered to put in an
elevator or glide, but it did boast a dingy lobby and the dubious security of a
surly-faced droid.

From the
smell, the health department had recently ordered insect and rodent
extermination.

The droid had
a tick in her right eye from a faulty chip, but she focused her good one on
Eve's badge.

“We're up to
code,” she claimed, standing behind cloudy safety glass. “We have no trouble
here.”

“Johannsen.”
Eve tucked her shield away. “Anyone visit him lately?”

The droid's
dinky eye hitched and rolled. “I'm not programmed to monitor visitors, only to
collect rents and maintain order.”

“I can
confiscate your memory discs and play them back for myself.”

The droid said
nothing, but a faint hum indicated she was running her own disc. “Johannsen,
room 3C, has not returned in eight hours, twenty-eight minutes. He left alone.
He had no visitors in the last two weeks.”

“Communications?''

“He does not
use our communication system. He has his own.”

“We're going
to have a look at his room.”

“Third floor,
second door left. Don't alarm other tenants. We have no trouble here.”

“Yeah, it's a
paradise.” Eve headed up the steps, noting the crumbling wood, well gnawed by
rodents. “Record, Peabody.”

“Yes, sir.”
Dutifully, Peabody clipped her recorder to her shirt. “If he was here about
eight hours ago, he didn't last long after he left. Probably no more than a
couple hours.”

“Long enough
to get the shit beat out of him.” Idly Eve scanned the walls. Several illegal
invitations and anatomically doubtful suggestions were inscribed. One of the
authors had a spelling deficiency and consistently left the c out of fuck.

Still, the
message was clear enough.

“Homey little
place, huh?”

“Reminds me of
my granny's house.”

At the door of
3C, Eve glanced back. “Why, Peabody, I think you made a joke.”

While Eve
chuckled and took out her master code, Peabody flushed scarlet. She had herself
back in line by the time the locks disengaged.

“Bolted
himself in, didn't he?” Eve muttered as the last of the three Keligh-500s opened.
“And didn't go for cheap. These babies cost about a week of my pay each. For
all the good they did him.” She let out a breath. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve,
entering victim's residence.” She pushed the door open. “Damn, Boomer, you were
a pig.”

The heat was
enormous. Temperature control in the flop consisted of closing the window or
opening it. Boomer had opted for closed, and had trapped stifling summer
inside.

The room
smelled of bad food gone over, stale clothes, and spilled whiskey. Leaving
Peabody to do the initial scan, Eve walked into the center of what was little
more than a box and shook her head.

The sheets on
the narrow bed were stained with substances she wasn't keen to analyze. Boxes
of take-out food were piled beside it. From the small mountain of dirty clothes
heaped in corners, she assumed laundry hadn't been high on Boomer's list of
household chores. Her feet stuck to the floor and made little sucking sounds as
she wandered the room.

In
self-defense, she fought the single window open. The sounds of air and street
traffic poured in like a flood.

“Jesus, what a
place. He made decent money weaseling. No way he had to live like this.”

“He must have
wanted to.”

“Yep.”
Wrinkling her nose, Eve eased open a door and studied the bathroom. There was a
stainless steel toilet and sink, a shower stall built for the height
disadvantaged. The stench roiled her stomach. “Worse then a three-day corpse.”
She breathed through her mouth, turned back. “There's where he put his money.”

In agreement,
Peabody joined Eve at a sturdy counter. On it was a pricey data and
communication center. Attached to the wall above was a viewing screen and a
shelf overflowing with discs. Eve chose one at random, read the label.

“Boomer was
into culture, I see. Bodacious Boobs of Bimbo Bitches.”

“That took the
Oscar last year.”

Eve snorted
and tossed the disc back. “Good one, Peabody. You want to keep that sense of
humor going, 'cause we're going to have to run all this shit. Box up the discs,
record number and labels. We'll scan them back at Cop Central.”

Eve engaged
the 'link and searched through for any calls Boomer had saved. She zipped
through food orders, a session with a video prostitute that had cost him five
thousand. There were two calls from a suspected dealer of illegals, but the men
had merely chatted about sports, heavy on baseball and arena bash. With some
curiosity, she noted that her office number was logged twice in the last thirty
hours, but he'd left no message.

“He was trying
to get in touch with me,” she murmured. “He disengaged without leaving a
message. That's not like him.” She pulled out the disc and handed it to Peabody
to put in evidence.

“There's
nothing to indicate he was afraid or worried, Lieutenant.”

“No, he was a
true weasel. If he'd thought someone was going to pin him, he'd have camped on
my doorstep. Okay, Peabody, I hope your immunizations are up to date. Let's
start going through this mess.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

By the time
they were finished, they were filthy, sweaty, and disgusted. At Eve's direct
order, Peabody had loosened the stiff collar of her uniform and rolled up the
sleeves. Still, sweat rained down her face and had her hair curling madly.

“I thought my brothers
were pigs.”

Eve toed aside
dirty underwear. “How many you got?”

“Two. And a
sister.”

“Four of you?”

“My parents
are Free-Agers, sir,” Peabody explained with twin notes of apology and
embarrassment in her voice. “They're really into rural living and propagation.”

“You continue
to surprise me, Peabody. A tough urbanite like you springing from Free-Agers.
How come you're not growing alfalfa, weaving mats, and raising a brood?”

“I like to
kick ass. Sir.”

“Good reason.”
Eve had left what she considered the worst for last. With unconcealed
revulsion, she studied the bed. The thought of body parasites scrambled through
her head. “We've got to deal with the mattress.”

Peabody
swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”

“I don't know
about you, Peabody, but I'm heading straight for a decontamination chamber when
we're done here.”

“I'll be right
behind you, Lieutenant.”

“Okay. Let's
do it.”

The sheets
came first. There was nothing but smells and stains. Eve would leave them for
the sweepers to analyze, but she'd already ruled out any possibility that
Boomer had been killed in his own flop.

Still, she was
thorough, shaking out the pillow, manipulating the foam. At her signal, Peabody
hefted one end of the mattress and she the other. It was heavy as a rock, and
with a grunt they flipped it.

“Maybe there
is a God,” Eve murmured.

Affixed to the
bottom of the mattress were two small packs. One was filled with pale blue
powder, the other a sealed disc. She tugged both free. Clamping down on the
urge to break open the powder, she studied the disc. It wasn't labeled, but
unlike the others, it had been carefully encased to keep it free of dust.

Ordinarily,
she would have run it immediately in Boomer's unit. She could stand the stench,
the sweat, even the dirt. But she didn't think she could maintain another
minute wondering what microcosmic parasites were crawling over her skin.

“Let's get the
hell out of here.”

She waited
until Peabody carried the evidence box out into the hall. With one last glance
at the way her man had lived, Eve shut the door, sealed it, and left the red
police security light beaming.

-=O=-***-=O=-

Decontamination
wasn't painful, but it wasn't particularly pleasant. It had the single virtue
of being fairly short. Eve sat with Peabody, both of them stripped to the skin,
in a two-seated chamber with curved white walls reflecting the hot white light.

“But it's a
dry heat,” Peabody stated and had Eve laughing.

“I always
figured this is what Hell's like.” She closed her eyes, willed herself to
relax. She didn't consider herself phobic, but closed-in spaces made her itchy.
“You know, Peabody, I used Boomer about five years now. He wasn't exactly the
GQ type, but I wouldn't have pegged him living like that.” She still had the
smell in her nostrils. “He was clean. Tell me what you saw in the bathroom.”

“Filth, mold,
scum, towels that hadn't been washed. Two bars of soap, one unopened, a half
tube of shampoo, tooth gel, an ultrasound brush and shaver. One hair comb,
broken.”

“Grooming
tools. He kept himself in shape, Peabody. Even liked to consider himself a
lady's man. My guess is the sweepers are going to tell me the food, the
clothes, the grunge is all about two, maybe three weeks old. What does that
tell you?”

“That he was
holed up -- worried, scared, or involved enough to let things go.”

“Exactly. Not
desperate enough to come in and unload to me, but worried enough to hide a
couple of things under his mattress.”

“Where no one
would ever think of looking for them,” Peabody said dryly.

“He wasn't
terribly bright about some things. You got a guess on the substance?”

“An illegal.”

“I've never
seen an illegal that color. Something new,” Eve mused. The light dimmed to gray
and a beeper sounded. “Looks like we're clean. Let's dig up some fresh clothes
and go run that disc.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

“What the hell
is this?” Eve scowled at her monitor. Unconsciously she began to toy with the
weighty diamond she wore around her neck.

“A formula?”

“I can figure
that out, Peabody.”

“Yes, sir.”
Chastised, Peabody eased back.

“Shit, I hate
science.” With hope, Eve glanced over her shoulder. “You any good at it?”

“No, sir. I'm
not even competent.”

Eve studied
the mix of numbers, figures, and symbols and crossed her eyes. “My unit's not
programmed for this crap. It'll have to go to the lab for analysis.” Impatient,
she drummed her fingers on the desk. “My hunch would be it's the formula for
that powder we found, but how the hell would a second rater like Boomer get his
hands on it? And who was his other trainer? You knew he was one of mine,
Peabody. How?”

Struggling
with embarrassment, Peabody stared over Eve's shoulder at the figures on the
screen. “You listed him in several intradepartmental reports on closed cases,
Lieutenant.”

“You make a habit
of reading intradepartmental reports, Officer?”

“Yours, sir.”

“Why?”

“Because, sir,
you're the best.”

“Are you
sucking up, Peabody, or bucking for my job?”

“There'll be
room when you're promoted to captain, sir.”

“What makes
you think I want a captaincy?”

“You'd be
stupid if you didn't, and you're not. Stupid, sir.”

“Okay, we'll
let that rest. Do you scan any other reports?”

“Now and
then.”

“Do you have
any clue as to who Boomer's trainer would be in Illegals?”

“No, sir. I've
never seen his name attached to any other cop. Most weasels only have one
trainer.”

“Boomer liked
to diversify. Let's hit the streets. We'll scope a few of his usual joints, see
what we turn up. We've only got a couple of days on this, Peabody. If you've
got anyone warming the home fires for you, let him know you'll be busy.”

“I'm
unattached, sir. I don't have a problem with putting in extra time.”

“Good.” Eve
rose. “Then saddle up. And Peabody, we've been naked together. Drop all the 'sirs,'
will you? Make it Dallas.”

“Yes, sir,
Lieutenant.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

It was after
three A. M. when she stumbled through the front door, tripped over the cat who
had decided to guard the entrance hall, swore, and turned blindly for the
stairs.

In her mind
were dozens of impressions: dim bars, strip clubs, the steamy streets where
low-level licensed companions plied their trade. All of them ebbed and flowed
together in the unappetizing stew that had been Boomer Johannsen's life.

No one knew
anything, of course. No one had seen anything. The single corroborative
statement she'd gleaned from her crawl through the seamier side of the city was
that no one had heard from or laid eyes on Boomer in over a week, possibly
longer.

But someone
had laid a great deal more than eyes on him. Her time was running low to find
out who and why.

The bedroom
lights were on dim. She'd already stripped off her shirt and tossed it aside
when she noted the bed was empty. There was an instant flare of disappointment,
a faint uncomfortable tug of panic.

He'd had to
leave, she thought. He was right now heading toward any possible spot in the
colonized universe. He could be gone for days.

Staring
miserably at the bed, she toed off her shoes and tugged off her slacks. Groping
in a drawer, she pulled out a cotton undershirt and yanked it over her head.

God, she was
pitiful, mooning because Roarke had to take care of business. Because he wasn't
mere for her to snuggle up against. Because he wasn't there to ward off the
nightmares that seemed to plague her with more intensity and frequency as her
memories of the past grew to crowd her.

She was too
tired to dream, she told herself. Too busy to brood. And strong enough not to
remember anything she didn't care to remember.

She turned,
intending to go to her upstairs office to sleep when the door slid open. Relief
flushed through her like shame.

“I thought
you'd had to leave.”

“I was
working.” Roarke crossed to her. In the dim light his black shirt was a stark
contrast to the white of hers. He tipped up her chin and looked into her eyes.
“Lieutenant, why do you always run until you fall down?”

“I have a
deadline on this one.” Perhaps she was overtired, or perhaps love was beginning
to be easier, but she lifted both hands to his face. “I'm awfully glad you're
here.” When he lifted her up and carried her toward the bed, she smiled.
“That's not what I meant.”

“I'm tucking
you in, and you're going to sleep.”

It was hard to
argue when her eyes were already closing. “Did you get my message?”

“The elaborate
one that said, 'I'll be late'? Yes.” He kissed her forehead. “Turn yourself
off.”

“In a minute.”
She fought back the edges of sleep. “I only had a couple minutes to contact
Mavis. She wants to stay where she is for a couple days. She isn't going in to
the Blue Squirrel either. She called in and found out Leonardo's been by there
a half a dozen times looking for her.”

“The course of
true love.”

“Mmm. I'm
going to try to take an hour personal time tomorrow and swing by to see her,
but I may not make it until the day after.”

“She'll be all
right. I can go by, if you like.”

“Thanks, but
she wouldn't talk to you about it. I'll take care of it as soon as I figure out
what Boomer was up to. I know damn well he couldn't read that disc.”

“Of course
not,” Roarke soothed, hoping to lull her to sleep.

“Not that he
wasn't good with figures. Money figures. But scientific formulas -- “ She
bolted straight up, nearly bashing Roarke's nose with her head. “Your unit'll
do it.”

“It will?”

“I got the
runaround from the lab. They're backed up, this is low priority. No priority,”
she added, scrambling back out of bed. “I need an edge. You've got scientific
analysis abilities on your unlicensed unit, right?”

“Of course.”
He sighed and rose. “Now, I suppose?”

“We can access
the data from my office unit.” Grabbing his hand, she tugged him toward the
faux panel that concealed the elevator. “It won't take us long.”

She filled him
in on the basics as they traveled up. By the time he'd coded them in to the
private room, she was wide awake and revved.

The equipment
was elaborate, unlicensed, and of course, illegal. Like Roarke, she used the
handplate for access, then moved behind the U-shaped console.

“You can pull
the data faster than I can,” she told him. “It's under Code Two, Yellow,
Johannsen. My access number's -- “

“Please.” If
he was going to play cop at three A. M., he wasn't going to be insulted. Roarke
sat at the controls and manipulated a few dials manually. “Into Cop Central,”
he said and smiled when she frowned.

“So much for
security.”

“Anything else
you'd like before I focus on your unit?”

“No.” She said
it firmly, moving behind him. Manipulating a keyboard with one hand, Roarke
drew one of hers over his shoulder, to his lips, to nibble on her knuckles.
“Show-off.”

“It would
hardly be any fun if you just plugged me in with your code. In your unit,” he
murmured, and switched to auto. “File Code Two, Yellow, Johannsen.” Across the
room one of the wall screens flashed.

Waiting

“Evidence
number 34-J, view and copy,” Eve requested. When the formula scrolled on, Eve
shook her head. “See that? It might as well be ancient hieroglyphics.”

“Chemical
formula,” Roarke mused.

“How do you
know?”

“I manufacture
a few -- legal ones. This is some sort of analgesic, but not entirely.
Hallucinogenic properties...” He clucked his tongue, shook his head. “I've
never seen anything quite like it. Not a standard. Computer, analyze and
identify.”

“You say it's
a drug,” Eve began and the computer went to work.

“Most certainly.”

“That fits
with my theory. But what was Boomer doing with the formula, and why would
someone kill him for it?”

“That would
depend on how marketable it is, I'd think. How profitable.” He frowned up at
the screen as the analysis began to form. The molecular reproduction circled on
the screen in colorful dots and spirals. “Okay, you have an organic stimulant,
a standard chemical hallucinogenic, both in fairly low and nearly legal
amounts. Ah, there's the properties for THR-50.”

“Street name
Zeus. Nasty stuff.”

“Hmm. Still,
it's low wattage. But that's an interesting mix. There's mint, to make it more
palatable. I'd say it could also be manufactured, with some alterations, in
liquid form. Blend it with Brinock -- that's a sexual stimulant and enhancer. In
the right measures, it can be used to cure impotency.”

“I know what
it is. We had a guy who OD'd on it. Killed himself after what appeared to be
the world's record in masturbation. Jumped out of a window in sexual
frustration. His dick was swollen like a pork sausage, about the same color,
and still hard as iron.”

“Thank you for
sharing that. What's this?” Puzzled, Roarke went back to the keyboard. The
computer merely continued to flash the same message.

Substance
unknown. Probable cell regenerator. Unable to identify.

“How is that
possible?” he mused. “I have an automatic update on this. There's nothing out
there it can't identify.”

“An unknown
substance. Well, well. That might be worth killing for. What will it give us
without it?”

“Identify with
known data,” Roarke ordered.

FORMULA
EQUALS STIMULANT WITH HALLUCINOGENIC PROPERTIES. ORGANIC BASE. WILL ENTER
BLOODSTREAM QUICKLY TO AFFECT NERVOUS SYSTEM.

“Results?”

INCOMPLETE
DATA.

“Hell.
Probable results with known data.”

WILL CAUSE
FEELINGS OF EUPHORIA, PARANOIA, SEXUAL APPETITE, DELUSIONS OF PHYSICAL AND
MENTAL POWERS. DOSAGE OF 55 MG INTO AVERAGE HUMAN OF 130 POUNDS WILL LAST FOUR
TO SIX HOURS. DOSAGE OF MORE THAN 100 MG WILL CAUSE DEATH IN 87. 3 PERCENT OF
USERS. SUBSTANCE SIMILAR TO THR-50, AKA ZEUS, WITH ADDITION OF STIMULANT TO
ENHANCE SEXUAL ABILITY AND CELL REGENERATION.

“It's not that
different,” Eve murmured. “It's not that important. We've already got
chemi-heads mixing Zeus with Erotica. It's a nasty combination, accounts for most
of the rapes in the city, but it's not secret or particularly profitable. Not
when any average junkie can mix it up in a porta-lab.”

“Except for
the unknown. Cell regeneration.” His brow quirked. “The fabled Fountain of
Youth.”

“Anybody with
enough credits can get youth treatments.”

“But they're
temporary,” Roarke pointed out. “You have to go back at regular intervals. Bio
peels and antiaging injections are expensive, time-consuming, and often
uncomfortable. And standard treatments don't have all the extra punches of
this.”

“Whatever the
unknown is, it makes the whole works bigger, or deadlier. Or, as you said, more
marketable.”

“You've got
the powder,” Roarke pointed out.

“Yeah, and
this might get the lab to shag their butts a bit. It's still going to take more
time than I have.”

“Can you get
me a sample of it?” He swiveled in his chair and smiled up at her. “Not to
denigrate your police labs, Lieutenant, but mine might prove a shade more
sophisticated.”

“It's
evidence.”

His brow
lifted.

“Roarke, do
you know how far I've already crossed the line getting you to do this?” She
blew out a breath, remembered Boomer's face, his arm. “Hell with it. I'll try.”

“Good.
Disengage.” The computer shut down silently. “Now will you go to sleep?”

“For a couple
hours.” She allowed the fatigue to seep back, linked her arms around his neck.
“You going to tuck me in again?”

“All right.”
He hitched up her hips so that her legs wrapped around him. “But this time you
stay where I tuck you.”

“You know,
Roarke, my heart just flutters when you get masterful.”

“Wait till I
get you back in bed. It's going to flutter plenty.”

She laughed,
nuzzled her head on his shoulder, and was asleep before the elevator finished
its descent.

*** CHAPTER FOUR ***

It was dead
dark when the 'link beside Eve's head beeped. The cop in her surfaced first,
smacked the engage, and reared up.

“Dallas.”

“Dallas, oh
God, Dallas. I need help.”

The woman in
her caught up with the cop in a snap and stared at Mavis's image on screen.
“Lights,” she ordered, and the room brightened so that she could see clearly.
The white face, a blackening bruise just under the eye, raw, bleeding scrapes
on the cheek, wild disheveled hair.

“Mavis. What
is it? Where are you?”

“You've got to
come.” Her breath hitched and snarled. Her eyes were too glazed with shock to
allow tears. “Hurry. Hurry, please. I think she's dead and I don't know what to
do.”

Eve didn't ask
for location again, but punched in an order to trace transmission. Recognizing
Leonardo's address when it blipped on under Mavis's face, she kept her voice
calm and firm.

“Stay where
you are. Don't touch anything. You understand me? Don't touch anything, and
don't let anyone in but me. Mavis?”

“Yes, yes. I
will. I won't. Hurry. It's so awful.”

“I'm on my
way.” When she turned, Roarke was already up and pulling on his trousers.

“I'll go with
you.”

She didn't
argue. In five minutes flat they were on the road and speeding through the
deepest slice of night. Empty streets gave way to the constant swarm of tourists
in midtown, the flash of video billboards offering every pleasure and purchase
known to man, then to the trendy insomniacs of the Village who loitered over
minuscule cups of flavored coffee and lofty discussions in outdoor cafes, and
finally, to the sleepy habitats of the artists.

Other than to
find out their destination, Roarke didn't ask questions, and she was grateful
for it. She could see Mavis's face in her mind, white and terrified. Worse,
much worse, she saw Mavis's hand, trembling. And the smear that had darkened it
had been blood.

A high wind
that hinted of a brewing storm whipped through the city canyons. It slapped at
Eve as she leaped from Roarke's car before he'd stopped completely at the curb.
She took the thirty yards of sidewalk in a dead run, smacked the security
camera.

“Mavis. It's
Dallas. Mavis, damn it.” Such was her state of mind that it took her ten
frustrated seconds to realize the unit was smashed.

Roarke went
through the unsecured door and into the elevator beside her.

When it opened,
she knew it was as bad as she'd feared. On her earlier visit, Leonardo's loft
had been cheerfully cluttered, colorfully disorganized. Now it was viciously
tumbled. Long trails of material shredded, tables overturned with their
contents strewn and broken.

There was
blood, a great deal of it, splattered on walls and silks like a bad-tempered
child's angry fingerpaints.

“Don't touch
anything,” she snapped at Roarke, out of reflex. “Mavis?” She took two steps
forward, then stopped as one of the billowing curtains of shimmery cloth
rippled. Mavis moved passed it, stood swaying.

“Dallas.
Dallas. Thank God.”

“Okay. It's
okay.” The minute Eve caught her close, the relief poured. The blood wasn't
Mavis's, though it was spotted on her clothes, on her hands. “You're hurt. How
bad?”

“I'm dizzy,
sick. My head.”

“Let her sit
down, Eve.” Taking Mavis's arm, Roarke led her to a chair. “Come on, darling,
sit down. That's the way. She's in shock, Eve. Get her a blanket. Put your head
back, Mavis. That's a girl. Close your eyes and just breathe for a while.”

“It's cold.”

“I know.” He
reached down, flipped up a ragged piece of glistening satin, and draped it over
her. “Deep breaths, Mavis. Slow, deep breaths.” He flicked a glance up at Eve.
“She needs attention.”

“I can't call
the MTs before I know what the situation is. Do what you can for her.” All too
aware of what she was likely to find, Eve moved past the curtain.

She'd died
badly. It was the hair that confirmed to Eve who the woman had once been. The
glorious curling flame of it. Her face, with its stunning, almost eerie
perfection, was all but gone, mashed and mangled under cruel, repeated blows.

The weapon was
still there, carelessly tossed aside. Eve supposed it was intended to be some
sort of fancy cane or walking stick, a fashionable affectation. Under the blood
and gore it was a glossy silver, perhaps an inch thick with an ornate handle in
the shape of a grinning wolf.

She'd seen it,
tipped into a corner of Leonardo's work space, only two days before.

It was not
necessary to check Pandora's pulse, but Eve did so. Then she stepped back
carefully so as not to contaminate the scene any further.

“Christ,”
Roarke murmured from behind her, then laid both hands on her shoulders. “What
are you going to do?”

“Whatever I
have to. Mavis wouldn't have done this.”

He turned her
to face him. “You don't have to tell me that. She needs you, Eve. She needs a
friend, and she's going to need a good cop.”

“I know.”

“It's not
going to be easy on you being both.”

“I'd better get
started.” She walked back to where Mavis sat. Her face was like softened wax,
the bruise and the scratches livid against the bone-white skin. Eve crouched
down and took Mavis's icy hands in hers. “I need you to tell me everything.
Take your time, but tell it all.”

“She wasn't
moving. There was all the blood, and the way her face looked. And -- and she
wasn't moving.”

“Mavis.” Eve
gave the hands one quick, hard squeeze. “Look at me. Tell me exactly what
happened from the time you got here.”

“I came... I wanted...
I thought I should talk to Leonardo.” She shivered, plucked at the scrap of
material covering her with hands still stained with blood. “He was upset when
he went to the club the last time looking for me. He even threatened the
bouncer, and that's not like him. I didn't want him to ruin his career, so I
thought I could talk to him. I came, and someone had broken the security unit,
so I just came on up. The door wasn't locked. Sometimes he forgets,” she
murmured and trailed off.

“Mavis, was
Leonardo here?”

“Leonardo?”
Dulled with shock, her eyes scanned the room. “No, I don't think so. I called
out, because I saw there was such a mess. Nobody answered. And there -- there
was blood. I saw blood. So much blood. I was afraid, Dallas, afraid that maybe
he'd killed himself or something crazy, and so I ran back into... back. I saw
her. I think... I went over. I think I did because I was kneeling beside her
and I was trying to scream. I couldn't scream. It was all in my head that I was
screaming, and I couldn't stop. And then I think something hit me. I think...”
Vaguely she touched her fingers to the back of her head. “It hurts. But
everything was the same when I woke up. She was still there, and the blood was
still there. And I called you.”

“Okay. Did you
touch her, Mavis? Did you touch anything?”

“I don't
remember. I don't think so.”

“Who did that
to your face?”

“Pandora.”

A quick spurt
of fear. “Honey, you told me she was dead when you got here.”

“It was
before. Earlier tonight. I went to her house.”

Eve took a
careful breath to counteract the twisting in her stomach. “You went to her
house tonight. When?”

“I don't know
exactly. About eleven maybe. I wanted to tell her I'd stay away from Leonardo,
to make her promise not to ruin everything for him.”

“You fought
with her?”

“She was
jazzed up on something. There were some people there, like a small party. She
was nasty, said things. I said things back. We got into it a little. She
smacked me, scratched me.” Mavis tugged back her hair to reveal other wounds
along her neck. “A couple of the people there broke it up, and I left.”

“Where did you
go?”

“A couple of
bars.” She smiled weakly. “A lot of bars, I think. Feeling sorry for myself.
Just hanging. Then I got the idea to talk to Leonardo.”

“When did you
get here? Do you know what time?”

“No, late,
real late. Three, four o'clock.”

“Do you know
where Leonardo is?”

“No. He wasn't
here. I wanted him to be here, but she... What's going to happen?”

“I'm going to
take care of it. I have to call this in, Mavis. If I don't do it soon, it's
going to look bad. I'm going to have to put all of this on record, and I'm
going to have to take you into Interview.”

“Into --
into... You don't think I -- “

“Of course I
don't.” It was important to keep her voice brisk, to disguise her own fears.
“But we're going to clear it all up as quick as we can, as clean as we can. Let
me do the worrying right now. Okay?”

“I can't feel
much of anything.”

“You just sit
here while I start things rolling. I want you to try to remember details. Who
you talked to tonight, where you were, what you saw. Everything you can
remember. We'll go over it all again in a little while.”

“Dallas.” With
a little shudder, Mavis sat back. “Leonardo. He'd never do that to anyone.”

“Let me do the
worrying,” Eve repeated. She glanced at Roarke, and understanding the signal,
he moved over to sit with Mavis. Eve pulled out her communicator and turned
away.

“Dallas. I
have a homicide.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

Eve's life had
never been easy. In her career as a cop she had seen and done too many
nightmarish things to count them all. But nothing had ever been more difficult
for her than taking Mavis into Interview.

“Are you
feeling okay? You don't have to do this now.”

“No, the MTs
gave me a local.” Mavis reached up, touched the lump on the back of her head.
“Numbed it good. They fiddled around with some other stuff, kind of snapped me
back into focus.”

Eve took a
long study of Mavis's eyes, her color. Everything looked normal, but it didn't
ease her dread. “Listen, it wouldn't hurt for you to check in to health center
for a day or two.”

“You're just
putting it off. I'd rather get it over with. Leonardo.” She swallowed hard.
“Has anyone found Leonardo?”

“Not yet.
Mavis, you can have an attorney or representative here.”

“I don't have
anything to hide. I didn't kill her, Dallas.”

Eve flicked a
glance at the recorder. It could wait just another minute. “Mavis, I have to do
this by the ropes. Exactly. They can bump me off the case if I don't. If I'm
not primary, I can't be as much help to you.”

Mavis licked
her lips, her tongue quick and thirsty. “It's going to be hard.”

“It could be
really, really hard. You're going to have to handle it.”

Mavis tried
for a smile, nearly managed it. “Hey, nothing can be worse than walking in and
finding Pandora. Nothing.”

Oh, yes, it
could, Eve thought, but she nodded.
She engaged the recorder, recited her name, ID, and officially gave Mavis her
rights. Carefully, she took Mavis over the same ground she had covered on the
scene, pinning down times as much as possible.

“When you went
to the victim's home to talk to her, other people were present.”

“A few. It
looked like a small party. Justin Young was there. You know, the actor. Jerry
Fitzgerald, the model. And another guy I didn't recognize. Looked like a suit.
You know, an exec.”

“The victim
attacked you?”

“She popped me
one,” Mavis said ruefully, fingering the bruise on her cheek. “She started out
just being bitchy. The way her eyes were wheeling around in her head, I figured
she was pumped.”

“You believe
she was using illegals.”

“Big time. I
mean her eyes were like crystal wheels, and that punch. I tangled with her
before, you saw it,” Mavis went on while Eve winced. “She didn't have that kind
of power before.”

“You hit her
back?”

“I think I got
one in, at least one. She scratched me -- those damn nails of hers. I went for
her hair. I think it was Justin Young and the suit that pulled us apart.”

“And then?”

“I guess we
spit at each other for a couple of minutes, then I left. Went bar crawling.”

“Where did you
go? How long did you stay?”

“I went a
couple of places. I think I hit the ZigZag first, the joint over on Sixty-first
and Lex.”

“Did you speak
to anyone?”

“I didn't want
to talk to anyone. My face hurt, and I was feeling lousy. I ordered a Triple
Zombie and sulked.”

“How'd you pay
for it?”

“I think...
Yeah, I think I just entered my credit account on screen.”

Good. There'd
be a record, time, place. “From there, where did you go?”

“I walked
around, bumped into another couple of dives. I was pretty blitzed.”

“Were you
still ordering drinks?”

“I must have
been. I was pretty drunk when I thought about going over to Leonardo's.”

“How'd you get
downtown?”

“I walked. I
needed to sober up a little, so I walked. Took a glide a couple of times, but
mostly hoofed.”

Hoping to
spark some memory, Eve repeated all the information Mavis had just given. “When
you left the ZigZag, which direction did you walk?”

“I'd just had two
Triple Zombies. I wasn't walking, I was stumbling. I don't know which way.
Dallas, I don't know the name of the other joints I went into, what else I
drank. It's all a blur. Music, people laughing... a table dancer.”

“Male or
female?”

“A guy. Hung,
with a tattoo, I think. Could have been paint. Pretty sure it was a snake,
maybe a lizard.”

“What did he
look like, the table dancer?”

“Shit, Dallas,
I never looked above the waist.”

“Did you talk
to him?”

Mavis put her
head in her hands and struggled to bring it back. Holding onto the memory was
like trying to hold a fistful of water. “I just don't know. I was seriously
impaired. I remember walking and walking. Getting to Leonardo's, thinking it
was the last time I was going to see him. I didn't want to be drunk when I did,
so I took some Sober Up before I went in. Then I found her, and it was a lot
worse than being drunk.”

“What was the
first thing you saw when you walked in?”

“Blood. Lots
of blood. Things knocked over, ripped, more blood. I was so afraid that
Leonardo had hurt himself, and I ran back to his work area, and saw her.” This
was a memory she could bring back with perfect clarity. “I saw her. I
recognized her because of the hair, and because she was wearing the same outfit
as she'd had on earlier. But her face... it really wasn't even there at all. I
couldn't scream. I knelt down beside her. I don't know what I thought I could
do, but I had to do something. Then something hit me, and when I woke up, I
called you.”

“Did you see
anyone as you were going into the building, on the street outside?”

“No. It was
late.”

“Tell me about
the security camera.”

“It was
broken. Sometimes street punks get a charge out of bashing them. I didn't think
anything of it.”

“How did you
get into the apartment?”

“The door
wasn't locked. I just walked in.”

“And Pandora
was dead when you got there? You didn't speak with her, argue?”

“No, I told
you. She was lying there.”

“You'd fought
with her earlier, twice. Did you fight with her tonight in Leonardo's
apartment?”

“No. She was
dead. Dallas -- “

“Why did you
fight with her on the previous occasions?”

“She
threatened to ruin Leonardo's career.” Emotions flickered over Mavis's bruised
face. Hurt, fear, grief. “She wouldn't let him go. We were in love, but she
wouldn't let him go. You saw the way she was, Dallas.”

“Leonardo and
his career are very important to you.”

“I love him,”
Mavis said quietly.

“You'd do
anything to protect him, to see that he wasn't harmed, personally or
professionally.”

“I'd decided
to get out of his life,” Mavis stated with a dignity that warmed Eve. “She'd
have hurt him otherwise, and I couldn't let that happen.”

“She couldn't
hurt him, or you, if she was dead.”

“I didn't kill
her.”

“You went to
her home, argued, she hit you and you fought. You left and got drunk. You made
your way to Leonardo's apartment, found her there. Maybe you argued again,
maybe she attacked you again. You defended yourself, and things got out of
hand.”

Mavis's big,
tired eyes registered puzzlement first, then hurt. “Why are you saying that?
You know it's not true.”

Eyes flat, Eve
leaned forward. “She was making your life hell, threatening the man you love.
She hurt you, physically. She was stronger than you. When she saw you come into
Leonardo's she went for you again. She knocked you down, you hit your head.
Then you were afraid, you grabbed the closest thing at hand. To protect
yourself. You hit her with it, to protect yourself. Maybe she kept coming at
you, so you hit her again. To protect yourself. Then you lost control, and kept
hitting her, and kept hitting her, until you realized she was dead.”

Mavis's breath
sobbed through her lips. She shook her head, kept shaking it while her body
trembled violently. “I didn't. I didn't kill her. She was already dead. For
God's sake, Dallas, how can you think I could do that to anybody?”

“Maybe you
didn't.” Push, Eve ordered herself as her heart bled. Push hard, for the
record. “Maybe Leonardo did, and you're protecting him. Did you see him lose
control, Mavis? Did he pick up the walking stick and hit her?”

“No, no, no!”

“Or did you
get there after he had done it, after he was standing over her body. Panicked.
You wanted to help him cover it up, so you got him out; called it in.”

“No. It wasn't
like that.” She lunged up from her chair, cheeks white, eyes wild. “He wasn't
even there. I didn't see anyone. He could never do that. Why aren't you
listening to me?”

“I am
listening to you, Mavis. Sit down. Sit down,” Eve repeated more gently. “We're
almost done here. Is there anything you wish to add to your statement, or any
change you wish to make in its content at this time?”

“No,” Mavis
murmured and stared blindly over Eve's shoulder.

“This
concludes Interview One, Mavis Freestone, Homicide file, Pandora. Dallas,
Lieutenant Eve.” She noted the date and time, disengaged the recorder, took a
leveling breath. “I'm sorry, Mavis. I'm so sorry.”

“How could you
do that? How could you say those things to me?”

“I have to say
those things to you. I have to ask those questions, and you have to answer
them.” She put a firm hand over Mavis's. “I may have to ask them again, and
you'll have to answer them again. Look at me, Mavis.” She waited until Mavis
shifted her gaze. “I don't know what the sweepers will pull in, what the lab
reports will say. But if we don't get real lucky, you're going to need a
lawyer.”

The color
faded from Mavis's face, even her lips, until she resembled a corpse with
hurting eyes. “You're going to arrest me?”

“I don't know
if it's going to come to that, but I want you to be prepared. Now, I want you
to go home with Roarke, and get some sleep. I want you to try hard, real hard,
to remember times and places and people. If you remember anything, you're going
to record it for me.”

“What are you
going to do?”

“I'm going to
do my job. I'm damn good at my job, Mavis. You remember that, too, and trust me
to clear this up.”

“Clear this
up,” Mavis repeated, bitterness in her voice. “Clear me, you mean. I thought it
was 'innocent until proven guilty.'“

“That's just
one of the bigger lies we live by.” Standing, Eve ushered Mavis into the
corridor. “I'll do my best to close the case quickly. That's all I can tell
you.”

“You could
tell me you believe me.”

“I can tell
you that, too.” She just couldn't let it get in the way.

-=O=-***-=O=-

There was
always paperwork and procedure. Within an hour she had Mavis signed out and
under voluntary holding at Roarke's. Officially, Mavis Freestone was listed as
a witness. Unofficially, Eve knew, she was the prime suspect. Intending to
begin amending that immediately, she walked into her office.

“Okay, what's
this shit about Mavis whacking some fancy-faced model?”

“Feeney.” Eve
could have kissed every rumpled inch of him. He sat at her desk, his ubiquitous
bag of sugared nuts in his lap, and a scowl on his wrinkled face. “Word
travels.”

“It was the
first thing I heard when I made my stop at the eatery. One of our top cop's
pals gets collared, it makes a buzz.”

“She hasn't
been collared. She's a witness. For now.”

“Media's
picked it up already. They don't have Mavis's name yet, but they've got the
victim's face splashed all over the screen. The wife dragged me out of the
shower to hear about it. Pandora was a BFD.”

“Big fucking
deal, alive or dead.” Weary, Eve eased a hip onto the corner of her desk. “Want
a rundown of Mavis's statement?”

“What do you
think I'm here for, the ambience?”

She gave it to
him in the cop shorthand they both understood, and left him frowning. “Damn,
Dallas, it doesn't look good for her. You saw them going at it yourself.”

“Alive and in
person. Why the hell she got it into her mind to confront Pandora again...”
Rising, she paced the room. “It makes it worse. I'm hoping the lab comes back
with something, anything. But I can't count on it. What's your caseload like,
Feeney?”

“Don't ask.”
He waved that away. “What do you need?”

“I need a run
on her credit account. The first place she remembers going into is ZigZag. If
we can place her there, or at one of the other joints at time of death, she's
clear.”

“I can handle
that for you, but... We got somebody hanging around the murder scene, bopping
Mavis on the head. Chances are there won't be much of a time lag.”

“I know. I've
got to cover all the bases. I'm going to track down the people Mavis recognized
at the victim's house, get statements. I've got to find a table dancer with a
big dick and a tattoo.”

“The fun never
ends.”

She nearly
smiled. “I need to find people who can testify she was really ripped. Even with
a dose of Sober Up, she couldn't have been clean enough to have taken out
Pandora if she'd been drinking her way downtown.”

“She claims
Pandora was using.”

“Something
else I have to check out. Then there's the elusive Leonardo. Where the fuck was
he? And where is he now?''

*** CHAPTER FIVE ***

Leonardo was
sprawled in the middle of Mavis's living room floor, where he had fallen hours
before in a drunken stupor brought on by a full bottle of synthetic whiskey and
a boatload of self-pity.

He was
surfacing groggily and feared he'd lost half of his face sometime during the
miserable night. When he lifted a cautious hand to it, he was relieved to find
his entire face in the usual place, only numbed from being mashed into Mavis's
floor.

He couldn't
remember much. It was one of the reasons he rarely drank and never permitted
himself to overindulge. He was prone to blackouts and blank spaces whenever he
chugged down a few too many.

He thought he
remembered staggering into Mavis's apartment building, using the key code she'd
given him when they realized they were not just lovers but in love.

But she hadn't
been there. He was almost sure of that. He had a vague picture of himself
lurching across town, glugging from the bottle he'd bought -- stolen? Hell.
Blearily he tried to sit up and pry his pasty eyes open. All he knew for
certain was that he'd had the damn bottle in his hand and the whiskey in his
gut.

He must have
passed out. Which disgusted him. How could he expect to make Mavis see reason
if he came weaving into her apartment, babbling drunk?

He could only
be grateful she hadn't been there.

Now, of
course, he had a raging hangover that made him want to curl into a ball and
weep for mercy. But she might come back, and he didn't want her to see him in
such a mortifying state. He made himself get up, hunted down some painkillers
before programming her AutoChef for coffee, strong and black.

Then he
noticed the blood.

It was dried,
streaking down his arm, onto his hand. There was a gash on his forearm, long,
fairly deep, that had crusted over. Blood, he thought again, stomach jittery as
he noted that it stained his shirt, his pants.

Breathing
shallowly, he backed away from the counter, staring down at himself. Had he
been in a fight? Had he hurt anyone?

Nausea rose in
his throat as his mind skipped over huge voids and blurry memories.

Oh sweet
Jesus, had he killed someone?

-=O=-***-=O=-

Eve was
staring grimly at the medical examiner's preliminary report as she heard a
quick, sharp rap on the door of her office. It opened before she acknowledged
it.

“Lieutenant
Dallas?” The man had the look of a sun-bleached cowboy, from his shit-eating
grin to his worn-heeled boots. “Goddamn, it's good to see the legend in the
flesh. Seen your picture, but you're a long sight prettier.”

“I'm all
a-flutter.” Eyes narrowing, she leaned back. He was plenty pretty himself, with
wheat-colored hair curling around a tan, lived-in face that creased appealingly
around bottle-green eyes. A long, straight nose, the quick wink of a sly dimple
at the corner of a grinning mouth. And a body that, well, looked like it could
ride the range just fine. “Who the hell are you?”

“Casto, Jake
T.” He tugged a shield from the snug front pocket of his faded Levi's.
“Illegals. Heard you were tracking me.”

Eve scanned
the badge. “Did you? Did you hear why I might have been tracking you,
Lieutenant Casto, Jake T. ?”

“Our mutual
weasel.” He stepped all the way in and planted a hip companionably on her desk.
That brought him close enough for her to catch the scent of his skin. Soap and
leather. “Goddamn shame about old Boomer. Harmless little prick.”

“If you knew
Boomer was mine, what's taken you so long to come see me?”

“I've been
tied up on something else. And to tell the truth, I didn't think there was much
to say or do. Then I heard Feeney from HDD was poking around.” Those eyes
smiled again, with just a touch of sarcasm. “Feeney's pretty much yours, too,
isn't he?”

“Feeney's his
own. What were you working Boomer on?”

“Usual.” Casto
picked up an amethyst egg from her desk, admired the inclusions, passed it from
hand to hand. “Information on illegals. Small shit. Boomer liked to think he
was big time, but it was always little bits and pieces.”

“Little bits
and pieces can build the big picture.”

“That's why I
used him, honey. He was pretty reliable for a bust here and there. Couple of
times I tagged a middle level dealer on his data.” He grinned again.
“Somebody's gotta do it.”

“Yeah. So who
beat him into putty?”

The grin
faded. Casto set the egg back down and shook his head. “Can't say as I have a
clue. Boomer wasn't your lovable sort, but I don't know anybody who hated him
enough, or was pissed enough, to whack him that way.”

Eve studied
her man. He looked solid, and there had been a tone in his voice when he'd
spoken of Boomer that reminded her of her own cautious affection. Still, she
believed in holding her cards close. “Was he working on anything in particular?
Something different? Something bigger?”

Casto's sandy
brow lifted. “Such as?”

“I'm asking
you. Illegals aren't my game.”

“There wasn't
anything I knew of. Last I talked to him, hell, maybe two weeks before he went
floating, he talked about sniffing out something outrageous. You know how he
talked, Eve.”

“Yeah, I know
how he talked.” It was time to lay one of her cards down. “I also know I copped
some unidentified substance hidden in his apartment. It's in the lab now, and
they're analyzing. So far, all they tell me is it's a new blend, and it's more
potent than anything currently on the street.”

“New blend.”
Casto's brow creased. “Why the hell didn't he tip me to that? If he tried to
play both sides...” Casto hissed a breath between his teeth. “You think he got
whacked over it?”

“That's my
best theory.”

“Yeah. Dumb
shit. Probably tried to shake down the maker or the distributor. Listen, I'll
talk to the lab, and I'll see if there's any buzz on the street about something
new coming in.”

“Appreciate
it.”

“It'll be a
pleasure working with you.” He shifted, let his gaze linger on her mouth for a
beat, with a kind of talent that missed insulting by miles and bull's-eyed on
flattering. “Maybe you'd like to catch a bite to eat, discuss strategy. Or
whatever comes to mind.”

“No, thanks.”

“Is that no
because you're not hungry, or because you're getting married?”

“Both.”

“Well, then.”
He rose, and being human, she had to appreciate the way the denim snugged over
long, lanky legs. “If you change your mind about either, you know where to find
me now. I'll be in touch.” He sauntered toward the door, paused, and turned.
“You know, Eve, you've got eyes like good, aged whiskey. Sure brings out a
powerful thirst in a man.”

She frowned at
the door he closed behind him, annoyed at the fact that her pulse was a little
quick, a little unsteady. Shaking it off, she dragged both hands through her
hair and looked back at the report on her screen.

She hadn't
needed to be told how Pandora had died, but it was interesting to see that the
ME believed the first three head blows had been fatal. Anything after that had
just been indulgence on the killer's part.

She'd put up a
fight before the head blows, Eve noted. Lacerations and abrasions on other
parts of the body were concordant with a struggle.

The time of
death was listed at oh two fifty, and stomach contents indicated the victim had
enjoyed an elegant last meal, at about twenty-one hundred, of lobster,
escarole, Bavarian cream, and vintage champagne.

There had also
been heavy traces of chemicals in her bloodstream which had yet to be analyzed.

So, Mavis had
probably been right. It looked as though Pandora was jazzed on something,
possibly on the illegals list. In the grand scheme of things, that might or
might not make a difference.

But the traces
of skin under the victim's nails were going to make a difference. Eve was
terrifyingly sure when the lab finished its work, it was going to prove to be
Mavis's skin. Just as the strands of hair the sweepers had bagged near the body
were going to be Mavis's hair. And most damning, she was afraid, the prints on the
murder weapon could be Mavis's.

As a setup,
Eve thought and let her eyes close,
it was perfect. Mavis comes in, wrong time, wrong place, and the killer sees a
tailor-made scapegoat.

Had he or she
known the history between Mavis and the victim, or had that just been one more
stroke of luck?

In any case,
he knocks Mavis out, plants some evidence, even adds the master stroke of
scraping the dead woman's nails over Mavis's face. Easy enough to press her
fingers onto the weapon, then slip out and away with the satisfaction of a job
well done.

It wouldn't
take a genius, she mused. But it would take a cold, practical mind. And how did
that jibe with the rage and the insanity of the attack on Pandora?

She would have
to make it jibe, Eve told herself. And she would have to find a way to clear
Mavis and find the kind of killer who could batter a woman's face into nothing,
then tidy up after himself.

Even as she
started to rise, her door burst open. Wild-eyed, Leonardo lurched inside.

“I killed her.
I killed Pandora. God help me.”

With that, his
wild eyes rolled back and all two hundred and sixty pounds of him thudded to
the floor in a dead faint.

“Jesus. Jesus
Christ.” Rather than try to catch him, Eve nipped back out of the way of his
falling body. It was like watching a redwood go down. Now he was stretched,
feet on her threshold, his head nearly brushing the opposite wall. She crouched
down, put her back into it and managed to roll him over. She tried a couple of
sharp, light slaps, then waited. Muttering to herself, she put her back into
that as well as rapped his cheeks hard.

He moaned, and
his bloodshot eyes fluttered open. “What -- where -- “

“Shut up,
Leonardo.” Eve snapped out the order as she rose, went to the doorway, and
kicked his feet inside. With the door firmly shut, she looked down at him. “I'm
going to read you your rights.”

“My rights?”
He looked dazed, but managed to heave himself up until he was sitting on the
floor instead of lying on it.

“You listen
up.” She gave him the standard revised Miranda, then held up a hand before he
could speak. “You understand your rights and your options?”

“Yeah.” Weary,
he rubbed his hands over his face. “I know what's going on.”

“You wish to
make a statement?”

“I've already
told you -- “

Eyes flat, she
held up a hand again. “Yes or no. Just yes or no.”

“Yes, yes, I
want to make a statement.”

“Get up off
the floor. I'm going to record this.” She turned to her desk. She could have
hauled him down to Interview. Probably should have, but it could wait. “You
understand whatever you say now is going on record?”

“Yes.” He got
to his feet, then dropped into a chair that groaned under his weight. “Dallas
-- “

She shook her
head to cut him off. After engaging her recorder, she noted the necessary
information, then gave him his Miranda again for the record. “Leonardo, you
understand these rights and options, and at this time have waived counsel and
are prepared to make a statement?”

“I just want
to get it over with.”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes. Yes,
damn it.”

“You were
acquainted with Pandora?”

“Of course I
was.”

“You had a relationship
with her?”

“I did.” He
covered his face again, but could still see the image that had flashed on
Mavis's viewing screen when he'd decided to flip on the news. The long black
bag being carried out of his own apartment building. “I can't believe this has
happened.”

“What was the
nature of your relationship with the victim?”

It was so
cold,he thought, the way she said
it. “The victim.” Leonardo dropped his hands into his lap and stared at
Eve. “You know we were lovers. You know I was trying to break it off because --
“

“You were no
longer intimate,” Eve interrupted, “at the time of her death.”

“No, we hadn't
been together for weeks. She'd been off planet. Things had cooled between us
even before she left. And then I met Mavis, and everything changed for me.
Dallas, where is Mavis? Where is she?”

“I'm not at
liberty to give you Ms. Freestone's whereabouts at this time.”

“Just tell me
she's all right.” His eyes filled, swam. “Just tell me she's all right.”

“She's being
taken care of,” was all Eve would say. Could say. “Leonardo, is it true that
Pandora was threatening to ruin you professionally? That she demanded you
continue your relationship with her, and that if you refused, she would pull
out of the showing of your fashion designs. A show that you had invested with a
great deal of time and money.”

“You were
there, you heard her. She didn't give a rat's damn about me, but she wouldn't
tolerate me being the one to pull back. Unless I stopped seeing Mavis, unless I
was her lapdog again, she would have seen to it that the show was a failure, if
it ran at all.”

“You didn't
want to stop seeing Ms. Freestone.”

“I love
Mavis,” he said with great dignity. “She's the most important thing in my
life.”

“And yet, if
you didn't accede to Pandora's demands, you would in all probability be left
with enormous debts and a stain on your professional reputation that would have
been intolerable. Is this correct?”

“Yes. I put
everything I had into the show. I borrowed a great deal of money. More, I put
my heart into it. My soul.”

“She could
have wiped that all out.”

“Oh yes.” His
lips curled. “She would have enjoyed it.”

“Did you ask
her to come to your apartment last night?”

“No. I never
wanted to see her again.”

“What time did
she come to your apartment last night?”

“I don't
know.”

“How did she
get in? Did you let her in?”

“I don't think
so. I don't know. She would have had my key code. I never thought to get it
back from her or to change it. Everything's been so crazy.”

“You argued
with her.”

His eyes
glazed over, went blank. “I don't know. I don't remember. But I must have. I
would have.”

“Recently,
Pandora came into your apartment uninvited, threatened you, attacked your
current companion physically.”

“Yes, yes, she
did.” He could remember that. It was a relief to be able to remember that.

“What was
Pandora's state of mind when she came to your apartment this time?”

“She must have
been angry. I would have told her I wasn't giving Mavis up. That would have
infuriated her. Dallas...” His eyes focused again, and desperation shone in
them. “I just don't remember. Any of it. When I woke up this morning, I was in
Mavis's apartment. I think I remember using my key code to get in. I'd been
drinking, walking and drinking. I rarely drink because I tend to lose time,
black holes in my mind. When I woke up, I saw the blood.”

He held out
his arm where the wound had been poorly bandaged. “There was blood on my hands,
on my clothes. Dried blood. I must have fought with her. I must have killed
her.”

“Where are the
clothes you were wearing last night?”

“I left them
at Mavis's. I showered, and I changed. I didn't want her to come home and find
me looking like that. I was waiting for her, trying to figure out what to do,
and I turned on the news. I heard -- I saw. And I knew.”

“You're saying
that you don't remember seeing Pandora last night. You don't remember having an
altercation with her. You don't remember killing her.”

“But I must
have,” he insisted. “She died in my apartment.”

“What time did
you leave your apartment last night?”

“I'm not sure.
I'd been drinking before. A lot. I was upset, and I was angry.”

“Did you see
anyone, speak with anyone?”

“I bought
another bottle. From a street hawker, I think.”

“Did you see
Ms. Freestone last night?”

“No. I'm sure
of that. If I'd seen her, if I could have talked to her, everything would have
been all right.”

“What if I
tell you Mavis was in your apartment last night?”

“Mavis came to
see me.” His face brightened. “She came back to me? But that can't be right. I
couldn't have forgotten that.”

“Was Mavis
there when you fought with Pandora? When you killed Pandora?”

“No. No.”

“Did she come
in after Pandora was dead, after you'd killed her? You were panicked then,
weren't you? Terrified.”

There was
panic in his eyes now. “Mavis couldn't have been there.”

“But she was.
She called me from your apartment, after she found the body.”

“Mavis saw?”
Beneath the copper tone, his skin went pasty. “Oh, God, no.”

“Someone
struck Mavis, knocked her unconscious. Was it you, Leonardo?”

“Someone hit
her? She's hurt?” He was up, out of the chair, dragging his hands through his
hair. “Where is she?”

“Was it you?”

He held out
his arms. “I'd cut my hands off before I'd hurt Mavis. For Christ's pity,
Dallas, tell me where she is. Let me see if she's all right.”

“How did you
kill Pandora?”

“I -- the
reporter said I beat her to death.” And he shuddered.

“How did you
beat her? What did you use?”

“I -- My
hands?” Again he held them out. Eve noted there was no sign of bruising, no
tears or abrasions on the knuckles. They were perfect, as if they'd been carved
from rich, glossy wood.

“She was a
strong woman. She must have fought back.”

“The cut on my
arm.”

“I'd like the
cut to be examined, as well as the clothes you say you left at Mavis's.”

“Are you going
to arrest me now?”

“You are not
being charged at this time. You will, however, be held until the results of the
tests are complete.”

She took him
over the same ground again, pushing for times, for places, for his movements.
Again and again, she bumped up against the wall blocking his memory. Far from
satisfied, she concluded the interview, took him to holding, then made
arrangements for the tests.

Her next stop
was Commander Whitney.

Ignoring his
offer of a chair, she stood facing him as he sat behind his desk. Briskly, she
gave him the results of her initial interviews. Whitney folded his hands and
watched her. He had good eyes, cop's eyes, and recognized nerves.

“You have a
man who has confessed to the murder. A man with motive and opportunity.”

“A man who
doesn't remember seeing the victim on the night in question, much less
bludgeoning her to death.”

“It wouldn't
be the first time a perp confessed in such a way to make himself seem
innocent.”

“No, sir. But
I don't believe he's our killer. The tests may prove me wrong, but his
personality type doesn't fit the crime. I was a witness to another altercation
where the victim attacked Mavis. Rather than attempting to stop the fight, or
showing any signs of violence, he stood back and wrung his hands.”

“By his own
statement, he was under the influence on the night of the murder. Drink can and
does induce personality changes.”

“Yes, sir.” It
was reasonable. In her heart she wanted to pin it on him, to take his
confession at face value and run with it. Mavis would be miserable, but she'd
be safe. She'd be cleared. “It's not him,” she said flatly. “I recommend
holding him for the maximum amount of time, reinterviewing to try to jog his
memory. But we can't charge him for thinking he committed murder.”

“I'll go along
with your recommendation, Dallas. The other lab reports should be in shortly.
We'll hope the results will clear everything up. You understand they may
further incriminate Mavis Freestone.”

“Yes, sir, I
understand that.”

“You have a
long-standing friendship with her. It would be no blot on your record to
withdraw as primary on this case. It would, in fact, be better for you, and
certainly more rational if you were to do so.”

“No, sir, I
will not withdraw as primary. If you pull me, I will take leave and pursue the
case on personal time. If necessary, I will resign.”

For a moment,
he rubbed his joined hands against his brow. “Your resignation would not be
accepted. Sit down, Lieutenant. Damn it, Dallas,” he erupted when she remained
standing. “Sit. I'll make it a fucking order.”

“Yes,
Commander.”

He sighed,
reined in his temper. “I hurt you not long ago with a personal attack that was
neither appropriate nor deserved. Because of that, I damaged something between
us. I understand that you no longer feel comfortable under my command.”

“You are the
best commander I've ever served under. I have no problem with you as my
superior.”

“But no longer
friends -- not even remotely.” He nodded, accepting her silence. “However,
because of my behavior during your investigation of a case that was very
personal to me, you should be aware that I fully understand what you're going
through on this one. I know what it is to be torn between loyalties, Dallas.
While you may be unable to discuss your feelings in this case with me, I
strongly suggest that you do so with someone you can trust. My mistake in the
other investigation was in not sharing the burden. Don't make the same one with
this.”

“Mavis didn't
kill anyone. No amount of evidence will convince me otherwise. I'll do my job,
Commander. And in doing it, I'll find the real killer.”

“I have no
doubt you'll do your job, Lieutenant, or that you'll suffer for it. You have my
support, whether you choose to use it or not.”

“Thank you,
sir. I have a request to make on another case.”

“Which is?”

“The Johannsen
matter.”

This time he
sighed, long and deep. “You're like a damn terrier, Dallas. You never let go.”

She couldn't
argue the point. “You have my report on what was found at Boomer's flop. The
illegal substance has not been fully identified. I've done some research of my
own on the formula we discovered.” She took a disc out of her bag. “It's a new
blend, highly potent, its effects would probably be fairly long term as
compared to what's found on the street. Four to six hours for an average dose.
Too much more at one time would be, in eighty-eight percent, fatal.”

Lips pursed,
Whitney turned the disc over in his hands. “Personal research, Dallas?”

“I had a
connection, I used it. The lab is still working, but they have identified
several of the ingredients, and their ratios. My point is, this substance would
be enormously profitable, as it takes only a small amount to produce results.
It's highly addictive, and produces feelings of strength, delusions of power,
and a kind of euphoria -- not tranquillity, but a sense of control over self
and others. It also contains some sort of cell regenerator. I've calculated the
results of long-term addiction. Daily use for a period of five years will, in
ninety-six point eight percent, result in a complete and sudden shutdown of the
nervous system. And death.”

“Christ Jesus.
It's poison?”

“Ultimately,
yes. The manufacturers certainly know this, which makes them guilty not only of
distributing illegals, but of premeditated murder.”

She let him
chew over that a moment, knew the headache it would cause if and when the media
dug its claws into the data. “Boomer may or may not have known about this
aspect, but he knew enough to be killed for it. I want to pursue the case and,
as I'm aware, I'm distracted by other matters, so I request that Officer
Peabody be assigned as my aide until the matter is resolved.”

“Peabody has
little experience in illegals or homicide, Lieutenant.”

“She makes up
for it with brains and sweat. I'd like her to assist in my coordinating with
Lieutenant Casto of Illegals, who also used Boomer as a weasel.”

“I'll see to
it. As to the Pandora homicide, use Feeney.” He lifted a brow. “You already
are, I see. Let's pretend I've just ordered it, and make it official. You'll
have to deal with the media.”

“I'm getting
used to it. Nadine Furst is back from leave. I'll feed her what seems best. She
and Channel 75 owe me a few.” She rose. “I have some people to talk to. I'll
contact Feeney and take him along.”

“Let's see if
we can get things cleared up before your honeymoon.” Her face was such a study
of contradictions, embarrassment, pleasure, and fear, he roared out a laugh.
“You'll live through it, Dallas. I can guarantee it.”

“Sure, when
the guy who's designing my wedding dress is in holding,” she muttered. “Thank
you, Commander.”

He watched her
walk out. She might not have been aware that she'd dropped the barrier between
them, but he was.

-=O=-***-=O=-

“The wife's
going to love this.” More than content to let Dallas handle the driving, Feeney
leaned back in the passenger seat. Street traffic was light as they headed
toward Park Avenue South. Feeney, a native New Yorker, had long since tuned out
the bellows and echoes of the tourist blimps and sky buses that crowded
overhead.

“They told me
they were going to fix it. Those fuckers. Hear that, Feeney? Do you hear that
goddamn buzzing?”

Obligingly, he
focused on the sound coming from her control panel. “Sounds like a swarm of
those killer bees.”

“Three days,”
she fumed, “three days in repair, and listen to it. It's worse than it was.”

“Dallas.” He
laid a hand on her arm. “You may have to face it, finally, learn to deal with
the simple fact that your vehicle is a piece of garbage. Requisition a new
one.”

“I don't want
a new one.” Using the heel of her hand, she rapped the control panel. “I want
this one, without the sound effects.” She got caught at a light, tapped her
fingers on the wheel. The way the controls sounded, she wouldn't be able to
trust automatic. “Where the hell is 582 Central Park South?” Her controls
continued to buzz, so she slapped them again. “I said, where the hell is 582 Central
Park South?”

“Just ask
nice,” Feeney suggested. “Computer, please display map and locate 582 Central
Park South.”

When the
display screen popped up, the holographic map highlighting the route, Eve only
snarled.

“I don't baby
my tools.”

“Which may be
why they're always breaking down on you. As I was saying,” he continued before
Eve could snap at him, “the wife's going to love this. Justin Young. He used to
play this stud on Night Falls.”

“Isn't that a
soap?” She shot him a glance. “What are you doing watching soaps?”

“Hey, I tune
in the Soap Channel for a little relaxation like everybody. Anyway, the wife
was nuts about him. He does the movie thing now. She hardly goes a week without
programming one of his movies on screen. Guy's good, too. Then there's Jerry
Fitzgerald.” Feeney smiled dreamily.

“Keep your
little fantasies to yourself, pal.”

“I tell you
that girl's built. Not like some of the models who have their bodies honed down
to bone.” He made a sound like a man anticipating a large bowl of ice cream.
“You know one of the best things about working with you recently, Dallas?”

“My charming
ways and rapier wit?”

“Oh sure.” He
rolled his eyes. “It's being able to go home and tell the wife who I
interrogated today. A billionaire, a senator, Italian aristocrats, film stars.
I tell you, it's done wonders for my prestige.”

“Glad I could
help.” She squeezed her battered police issue between a mini Rolls and a
vintage Mercedes. “Just try to control your awe while we do the third degree on
the actor.”

“I'm a
professional.” But he was grinning as he climbed out. “Just look at this place.
How'd you like to own a place in here?” Then he chuckled and shifted his eyes
away from the glossy faux marble facade of the lofty building. “Oh, I was
forgetting. This is slumming for you now.”

“Kiss ass,
Feeney.”

“Come on, kid,
loosen up.” He slung an arm around her shoulder as they headed toward the
doors. “Falling for the richest man in the known world isn't something to be
ashamed of.”

“I'm not
ashamed of it. I just don't like to dwell on it.”

The building
was choice enough to have a live doorman as well as electronic security. Both
Eve and Feeney flashed their badges and were admitted into a marble and gilt
lobby accented with leafy ferns and exotic flowers in huge china pots.

“Ostentatious,”
Eve muttered.

“See how jaded
you're getting?” Feeney moved out of range and approached the inner security
screen. “Lieutenant Dallas and Captain Feeney, for Justin Young.”

“One moment,
please.” The creamy computer voice paused while their identification was
verified. “Thank you for waiting. Mr. Young is expecting you. Please proceed to
elevator three, request your party. Enjoy your day.”

*** CHAPTER SIX ***

“So, how do
you want to play it?” Feeney pursed his lips, studied the tiny camera in the
corner of the elevator on the way up. “The standard good cop/bad cop?”

“Funny how it
always works.”

“Civilians are
easy marks.”

“Let's start
with the sorry to bother you, appreciate your cooperation sort of thing. If we
get a sense he's playing games, we can shift gears.”

“If we do, I
want to be the bad cop.”

“You're a
lousy bad cop, Feeney. Face it.”

He gave her a
mournful look. “I outrank you, Dallas.”

“I'm primary,
and I'm better at bad cop. Live with it.”

“I always have
to be the good cop,” he muttered as they stepped into a well-lighted hallway
with more marble, more gilt.

Justin Young
opened the opposing door with perfect timing. And, Eve thought, he'd dressed
for the part of the well-to-do yet cooperative witness in casual, expensive, buff
linen slacks and a drapey silk shirt of the same tone. On his feet were trendy
sandals with thick soles and intricate beading over the instep.

“Lieutenant
Dallas, Captain Feeney.” His beautifully sculpted face was in serious lines,
the killer black eyes sober and a dramatic contrast to a wavy mane of hair the
same color as the gilt in the hallway. He offered a hand adorned with a wide
ring studded with onyx. “Please come in.”

“Thank you for
agreeing to see us so quickly, Mr. Young.” Perhaps her eye had become jaded,
but Eve's initial scan of the room left her thinking. Overdone, overwrought,
and overexpensive.

“It's such a
tragedy, such a horror.” He gestured them in toward a huge L-shaped sofa jammed
with pillows in wild colors and slick fabrics. Across the room, a meditation
screen was programmed to a tropical beach at sunset. “It's almost impossible to
believe she could be dead, much less that she died in such a sudden and violent
way.”

“We're sorry
to intrude,” Feeney began, prepping for his good cop role while he struggled
not to gape at all the tassels and stained glass. “This must be a difficult
time for you.”

“It is.
Pandora and I were friends. Can I offer you something?” He sat, elegant and
slim, in a wing chair that could have swallowed a small child.

“No, thank
you.” Eve tried to wiggle her way back among the mountain of cushions.

“I will, if
you don't mind. I've been living on little more than nerves since I heard the
news.” Leaning forward, he pressed a small button on the table between them. “Coffee,
please. One.” Settling back, he smiled a little. “You'll want to know where I
was when she died. I've done a number of police vehicles in my career. Played
the cop, the suspect, even the victim in my early days. With my image, I've
always been innocent.”

He flicked a
glance up as a domestic droid, dressed, Eve noted with horrified amusement, in
the classic French maid's uniform, carried in a glass tray topped with a single
cup and saucer. Justin took the cup from it, used both hands to bring it to his
lips.

“The media
hasn't stated exactly when Pandora was killed, but I believe I can give you my
movements for the entire evening. I was with her, at a small party at her home
until about midnight. Jerry and I -- Jerry Fitzgerald -- left together, and
went to have a drink at a nearby private club. Ennui. It's very in right now,
and it pays for both of us to be seen. I imagine it was one or so when we left.
We considered doing a bit of club hopping, but I confess, we'd both had enough
to drink, and enough socializing. We came here, stayed here together until
about ten the next morning. Jerry had an assignment. It wasn't until she'd left
and I was having my first cup of coffee that I turned on the news and heard
about Pandora.”

“That
certainly covers the evening,” Eve said. He'd recited it all, she thought, as
though it was a well-staged play. “We'll need to speak to Ms. Fitzgerald to
verify.”

“Certainly.
Would you like to do so now? She's in the relaxation room. Pandora's death has
left her a bit rattled.”

“Let's let her
relax a bit longer,” Eve suggested. “You said you and Pandora were friends.
Were you lovers?”

“Now and
again, nothing serious. It was more that we ran in the same circles. And to be
brutally honest at such a time, Pandora preferred men who were easily
dominated, intimidated.” He flashed a smile as if to show he was neither. “She
preferred affairs with those who were striving rather than those who had
attained success. She rarely enjoyed sharing the spotlight.”

Feeney picked
up the rhythm. “Who was she involved with, romantically, at the time of her
death?”

“There were a
few, I believe. Someone I think she'd met on Starlight Station -- an
entrepreneur, she called him, but with a sarcastic tone. This up-and-coming
designer Jerry tells me is brilliant. Michelangelo, Puccini, Leonardo.
Something of the kind. Paul Redford, the video producer who joined us that
night.”

He took a sip
of his coffee, then blinked. “Leonardo. Yes, it was Leonardo. There was some
sort of tiff there. A woman came by the house while we were there. They fought
over him. An old-fashioned catfight. It would have been amusing if it hadn't
been so embarrassing for everyone involved.”

He spread his
elegant fingers, looked mildly amused despite his statement. Well done,
Eve thought. Well rehearsed, good timing, lines professionally punched.

“It took Paul
and I both to separate them.”

“The woman
came to Pandora's home and attacked her, physically?” Eve asked in carefully
neutral tones.

“Oh no, not at
all. The poor thing was devastated, pleading. Pandora called her a few vile
names and hit her.” Justin demonstrated by making a fist, jerking it. “Really
socked her. The woman was small, but she was game. Scrambled right up and
plowed in. After that it was wrestling and hair pulling, scratching. The woman
was bleeding some when she left. Pandora had lethal nails.”

“Pandora
scratched the woman's face?”

“No. Though
I'm sure she was going to have quite a bruise. It was her neck as I recall.
Four long, nasty scratches on the side of the neck where Pandora raked her. The
woman, I'm afraid I don't know her name. Pandora just called her bitch, and
varieties of the same. She was trying not to cry when she left, and told
Pandora, quite dramatically, that Pandora would be sorry for what she'd done.
Then I'm afraid she ruined her exit by sniffling and claiming that love conquers
all.”

It sounded
just like Mavis, Eve thought. “And after she left, how did Pandora behave?”

“She was
furious, overexcitable. That's why Jerry and I left early.”

“And Paul
Redford?”

“He stayed; I
can't say how long.” With a sigh that signaled regret, Justin set his coffee
aside. “It's unfair to say anything negative about Pandora when she can't
defend herself, but she was hard, very often abrasive. Cross her, and you
paid.”

“And did you
ever cross her, Mr. Young?”

“I was careful
not to.” He smiled charmingly. “I enjoy my career and my looks, Lieutenant.
Pandora was no threat to the first, but I'd seen and heard of her doing some
damage to faces when annoyed. Believe me, she didn't wear her manicure like
knives just for fashion.”

“She had
enemies.”

“Plenty of
them, most of whom were terrified of her. I can't imagine who might have
finally snapped and struck back at her. And from the news reports I've heard, I
can't believe even Pandora deserved to die so brutally.”

“We appreciate
your candor, Mr. Young. If it's convenient, we'd like to speak with Ms.
Fitzgerald now. Alone.”

He lifted a
slim, elegant brow. “Yes, of course. No coordinating stories.”

Eve only
smiled. “You've had plenty of time to do that already. But we'd like to speak
to her alone.”

She had the
pleasure of seeing his smooth facade shaken a bit by her statement. Still, he
rose and walked toward a connecting corridor.

“What do you
think?” Feeney muttered.

“I think it
was a hell of a performance.”

“We're on
wavelength there. Still, if he and Fitzgerald were ripping up the sheets all
night, it keeps him in the clear.”

“They alibi
each other, it keeps them both in the clear. We'll get the security discs from
building management, check what time they came in. See if they went out again.”

“I never trust
those, not since the DeBlass case.”

“If they
diddled with the discs, you'll see it.” She glanced up at the sound of Feeney
sucking in his breath. His hangdog face had gone terrier bright. His eyes were
glazed. After a glimpse at Jerry Fitzgerald's entrance, Eve wondered why
Feeney's tongue wasn't hanging out.

She was built,
all right, Eve mused. Her lush breasts were barely covered with ivory silk that
dipped nipple low, clung, then halted briefly a few millimeters below crotch
level. One long, shapely leg was decorated beside the knee with a red rose in
full bloom.

Jerry
Fitzgerald was definitely blooming.

Then there was
the face, soft and slumberous as though she'd just climbed out of sex. Ebony
hair was razor straight and curved to perfection, framing a round, feminine
chin. Her mouth was full and wet and red, her eyes dazzling blue and edged with
spiky, gold-tipped lashes.

As she glided
to a chair like some sort of pagan sex goddess, Eve patted Feeney's leg in
support -- and restraint.

“Ms.
Fitzgerald,” Eve began.

“Yes,” she
said in a voice like sacrificial smoke. Those killer eyes barely flickered on
Eve before they latched like limpets on Feeney's homely and dazed face.
“Captain, it's just so awful. I've tried the isolation tank, the mood elevator,
even programmed the hologram for meadow walks, as that always relaxes me. But
nothing I do gets all of this out of my mind.”

She fluttered,
lifted both hands to her unbelievable face. “I must look like a hag.”

“You look
beautiful,” Feeney babbled. “Stunning. You look -- “

“Get a grip,”
Eve muttered and jabbed him with an elbow. “We appreciate how upset you are,
Ms. Fitzgerald. Pandora was a friend of yours.”

Jerry opened
her mouth, closed it, smiled slyly. “I could tell you she was, but you'd find
out quickly enough we weren't friendly. We tolerated each other as we were in
the same business, but frankly, we couldn't stand one another.”

“She invited
you into her home.”

“That's
because she wanted Justin to be there, and we're very close right now. And
Pandora and I did socialize, we even did a few projects together.”

She rose,
either to show off the body or because she preferred to serve herself. From a
cabinet in the corner she took out a decanter in the shape of a swan and poured
its sapphire blue contents into a glass.

“Let me say
first that I am sincerely upset about the way she died. It's terrifying to
think that anyone could hate so much. I am in the same profession, and as much
in the public eye. A kind of image, as Pandora was. If it happened to her...”
She broke off, drank deeply. “It could happen to me. One of the reasons I'm
staying here with Justin until it's all resolved.”

“Take me
through your movements on the night she was killed.”

Jerry's eyes
widened. “Am I a suspect? That's almost flattering.” She came back to the
chair, drink in hand. After she sat, she folded up her exquisite legs in a way
that made Feeney vibrate beside Eve. “I never had the guts to do more than give
her a few verbal shots. Half the time she didn't even know I was zinging her.
Pandora wasn't exactly a mental giant and never understood subtlety. All right
then.”

She sat back,
closed her eyes, and told basically the same story as Justin had, though she
had, apparently, tuned in more closely on the altercation between Pandora and
Mavis.

“I have to
admit, I was cheering her on. The little one, not Pandora. She had a style to
her,” Jerry mused. “Odd, memorable -- somewhere between a waif and an Amazon.
She was trying to hold her own, but Pandora would have mopped the floor with
her if Justin and Paul hadn't stopped it. Pandora was really strong. She was
always in the health club working on muscle tone. I once saw her literally
throw a fashion consultant across the room because the poor sap had mislabeled
her accessories before a showing. Anyway...”

She waved that
off, opened a drawer on the brass table beside her, and located an enameled
box. She took out a glossy red cigarette, lighted it, blew out perfumed smoke.
“Anyway, the woman started off trying to reason with Pandora, make some sort of
a deal with her over Leonardo. He's a designer. My take was Leonardo and the
waif were an item and Pandora wasn't ready to cut him loose. He's got a show
coming up.”

She smiled
that cat's smile again. “With Pandora gone, I'll have to throw him my support.”

“You weren't
involved in the show before?”

“Pandora was
headlining. I said Pandora and I had done a few projects together. A couple of
videos. Her problem was, she had looks, even presence, but when she had to read
someone else's lines or try for charming on screen, she was an oak. Wooden.
Just awful. But I'm good.” She paused to let more smoke stream through her
lips. “Really good, and I'm concentrating on my acting work. But... stepping in
on this show, with this designer, will be a nice boost for me media-wise. That
sounds callous. Sorry.” She shrugged. “It's life.”

“Her death
comes at an opportune moment for you.”

“When I see an
opportunity, I take it. I don't kill for it.” She moved her shoulders again.
“That was more Pandora's style.”

Now she leaned
forward, and her bodice gaped carelessly. “Look, let's not play games. I'm
clear. I was with Justin all night, didn't see her after about midnight. I can
be honest, tell you I couldn't stand her, that she was certainly a professional
rival, and that I knew that she'd have liked to lure Justin away from me just
for spite. And maybe she could have done it. I don't kill over men, either.”
She warmed Feeney with a glance. “There are so many charming ones out there.
And the simple fact is, you couldn't fit all the people who detested her into
this apartment. I'm just one of the crowd.”

“What was her
mood on the night she died?”

“Razzed and
jazzed.” In a quick change of mood, Jerry threw back her head and laughed
lustily. “I don't know what she'd been knocking back, but it sure as hell put a
glint in her eye. She was on fast forward.”

“Ms.
Fitzgerald,” Feeney began in slow, apologetic tones, “you believed Pandora had
ingested an illegal?”

She hesitated
a moment, then moved her alabaster shoulders. “Nothing legal makes you feel
that good, honey. Or that mean. And she was feeling good and mean. Whatever it
was, she was chasing it with champagne by the bucketload.”

“Were you and
the other guests offered illegal substances while you were there?” Eve asked.

“She didn't
invite me to share. But then, she knew I didn't use. My body's a temple.” She
smiled as Eve's glance focused on her glass. “Protein drink, Lieutenant. Pure
protein. And this?” She waved her slim cigarette. “Veggie, with a lace of
perfectly legal calmer, for my nerves. I've watched a lot of the mighty fall,
taking a short, fast trip. I'm in for the long haul. I allow myself three
herbal smokes a day, an occasional glass of wine. No chemical stimulants, no
happy pills. On the other hand...” She set her drink aside. “Pandora was a
champion user. She'd gulp down anything.”

“Do you know
the name of her supplier?”

“Never thought
to ask her. Just wasn't interested. But at a guess, I'd say this was something
new. I've never seen her so powered up, and though it pains me to say it, she
looked better, younger. Skin tone and texture. She had, well, a glow on. If I
didn't know better, I'd say she'd had a full treatment, but we both use Paradise.
I know she wasn't in the salon that day, because I was. Anyway, I asked her,
and she just smiled and said she'd found a new beauty secret, and she was going
to make a pile on it.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

“Interesting,”
Feeney commented when he plopped back down in Eve's car. “We talked to two of
the three people who last socialized with the victim. Neither of them could
stand her.”

“They could
have done it together,” Eve mused. “Fitzgerald knew Leonardo, wanted to work
with him. Simplest thing in the world to alibi each other.”

Feeney tapped
his pocket where he'd slipped the security discs from the building. “We'll run
these, see what we find. Still seems to me we're missing motive. Whoever took
her out didn't just want to kill her, they wanted to erase her. We've got a
powerful kind of rage here. Didn't seem to me either one of those two would
work up a sweat.”

“Push the
right buttons, everybody sweats. I want to swing by ZigZag, see if we can start
pinning down Mavis's moves. And we need to contact the producer, set up an
interview. Can you put one of your drones on the car companies, Feeney? I can't
see our heroine taking the subway or a bus downtown to Leonardo's.”

“Sure.” He
took out his communicator. “If she took a cab or a private transpo service, we
should be able to nail it down in a couple hours.”

“Good. And
let's see if she made the trip alone, or if she had company.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

ZigZag didn't
do much hopping in the middle of the day. It lived for night. The sunlight
crowd were mostly tourists or the harried urban professionals who didn't much
care if the decor looked tawdry and the service was surly. The club was like a
carnival that glittered at night, and showed its age and its flaws in the harsh
light of day. Still, it maintained that underlying mystique that drew crowds of
dreamers.

There was a
steady drone of music, which would be cranked up to ear-splitting once the sun
set. The open, two-level structure was dominated by five bars and twin
revolving dance floors that would begin their circuit at nine P. M. Now they
were still, stacked one over the other, the clear floors scarred from the
beatings of nightly feet.

The lunch
offerings ran to sandwiches and salads, all named after dead rockers. Today's
special was peanut butter and banana on white, with a side of vidalia onions
and jalapenos. The Elvis and Joplin combo.

Eve settled
with Feeney at the first bar, ordered black coffee, and sized up the bartender.
She was human rather than the usual droid. In fact, Eve hadn't noticed any
droids employed in the club.

“You ever work
the night shift?” Eve asked her.

“Nope. I'm a
day worker.” The bartender set Eve's coffee on the bar. She was the perky kind,
one who looked more like the front woman for a health food chain than a drink
swiller at a club.

“Who's on the
ten to three who notices people, remembers them?”

“Nobody around
here notices people, if they can help it.”

Eve took out
her badge, laid it on the bar. “Would this clear somebody's memory?”

“Couldn't
say.” Unconcerned, she shrugged. “Look, this is a clean joint. I've got a kid
at home, which is why I work days and why I was fussy about where I took a job.
I checked this place out through and through before I hooked up. Dennis, he
runs a friendly club, which is why you've got servers with pulses instead of
chips. It might get a little wild, but he keeps the lid on.”

“Who is
Dennis, and where do I find him?”

“His office is
up the twisty stairs to your right, behind the first bar. He owns the place.”

“Hey, Dallas.
We could take a minute for some eats,” Feeney complained as he walked behind
her. “The Mick Jagger sounded worth a try.”

“Get him to
go.”

The bar wasn't
open on this level, but obviously Dennis had been alerted. A mirrored panel
slid aside, and he stood there, a slight, aesthetic-faced man with a pointed
red beard and a monk's circle of raven black hair.

“Officers,
welcome to ZigZag.” His voice was whisper quiet. “Is there a problem?”

“We'd like
your help and cooperation, Mr.... ?”

“Dennis, just
Dennis. Too many names are unwieldy.” He ushered them inside. The carnival
atmosphere ended at the threshold. The office was spartan, streamlined, and
quiet as a church. “My sanctuary,” he said, well aware of the contrast. “One
can't enjoy nor can one appreciate the pleasures of noise and crowds and
tangling humanity unless one experiences its opposite. Please sit.”

Eve took a
chance on a stern-looking, straight-backed chair while Feeney eased himself
into its mate. “We're trying to verify the movements of one of your customers
last night.”

“For?”

“Official
reasons.”

“I see.”
Dennis sat behind a slab of high-gloss plastic that served as his desk. “And
the time?”

“After eleven,
before one.”

“Open screen.”
At his order, a section of the wall slid open to reveal a viewer. “Replay
security scan five, begin eleven P. M.”

The screen,
and the room, erupted with sound and color and movement. For an instant it
dazzled the eye, then Eve focused. It was an overview of the club in full
swing. A rather lordly view, she mused, as if the watcher soared quietly over
the heads of the celebrants.

It suited
Dennis down to the ground.

He smiled,
judging her reaction. “Delete audio.” Abruptly, silence descended. Now the
movement seemed unworldly. Dancers gyrated on the circling floors, lights
flashed over their faces, catching expressions, intense, joyful, feral. A
couple at a corner table snarled at each other, body action clearly
demonstrating an argument in progress. At another, a mating ritual with soulful
looks and intimate touches.

Then she
spotted Mavis. Alone.

“Can you
enhance?” Eve rose, jabbed a finger to the center left of the screen.

“Of course.”

Frowning, Eve
watched Mavis brought closer, clearer. It was, according to the time display,
twenty-three forty-five. There was a bruise already darkening under Mavis's
eye. And when she turned her head to brush off an advance, the signs of raw
scratches on her neck. But not her face, Eve noted with a sinking heart. The
bright blue drape she wore was torn a bit at the shoulder, but it was still
attached.

She watched
Mavis flick off a couple of other men, then a woman. She downed her drink, set
the glass down beside a matching pair of empty ones on her table. She listed a
bit as she rose, balanced herself, then with the exaggerated dignity of the
greatly impaired, Mavis elbowed her way through the crowd.

The time was
twenty-four eighteen.

“Is that what
you were looking for?”

“More or
less.”

“Disengage
video.” Dennis smiled. “The woman in question comes in the club from time to
time. She is usually more sociable, enjoys dancing. Occasionally she will sing.
I find her a different sort of talent, and certainly a crowd pleaser. Do you
need her name?”

“I know who
she is.”

“Well then.”
He rose. “I hope Miss Freestone isn't in any trouble. She looked unhappy.”

“I can get a
warrant for a copy of that disc, or you can give me one.”

Dennis lifted
a bright red eyebrow. “I'll be happy to give you one. Computer, copy disc and
label. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“No, not at
this time.” Eve accepted the disc and slipped it into her bag. “Thanks for your
cooperation.”

“Cooperation
is the glue of life,” he said as the panel slid shut behind them.

“Weird-o,”
Feeney decided.

“An efficient
one. You know, Mavis could have gotten into a tussle while she was club hopping.
She could have gotten her face scratched, her clothes torn.”

“Yeah.”
Determined to eat, Feeney stopped at an order table and requested a Jagger to
go. “You ought to put something in your system, Dallas, besides worry and
work.”

“I'm fine. I'm
not much on the club scene, but if she had it in the back of her mind to go see
Leonardo, she'd have walked south and east from here. Let's check out what her
most likely stop would have been.”

“Fine. Just
hold on.” He made her wait until his takeout slid through the serving slot. He
had the clear wrap off and the first bite in by the time they got to the car.
“Damn good stuff. Always did like Jagger.”

“Hell of a way
to live forever.” She started to request a map when her car 'link beeped,
signaling incoming transmission. “Lab report,” she murmured and focused on the
screen. “Oh, goddamn it.”

“Hell, Dallas,
this is a mess.” Appetite gone, Feeney stuffed the sandwich in his pocket. Both
of them fell into silence.

The report was
very clear. It was Mavis's skin, and only Mavis's, under the victim's nails.
Mavis's prints, and only Mavis's, on the murder weapon. And it was her blood,
and only hers, mixed with the victim's on scene.

The 'link
beeped again, and this time a face appeared on screen. “Prosecuting Attorney
Jonathan Heartly, Lieutenant Dallas.”

“
Acknowledged.”

“We're issuing
an arrest warrant for Freestone, Mavis, charge of murder, second degree. Please
hold for transmission.”

“Didn't waste
any time,” Feeney grumbled.

*** CHAPTER SEVEN ***

She wanted to
do it alone. Had to do it alone. She could count on Feeney to work on ferreting
out any details that might weaken the case against Mavis. But the job had to be
done, and she had to do it herself.

Still, she was
glad when Roarke opened the door.

“I can see it
in your face.” And he took her face in his hands. “I'm sorry, Eve.”

“I have a
warrant. I have to take her in, book her. There's nothing else I can do.”

“I know. Come
here.” He gathered her close, held her as she burrowed her face in his
shoulder. “We'll find the piece of this that clears her, Eve.”

“Nothing I've
found, nothing, Roarke, helps her. Everything makes it worse. The evidence,
it's all there. The motive's there, the timing.” She drew back. “If I didn't
know her, I wouldn't have a doubt.”

“But you do know
her.”

“She's going
to be scared.” Frightened herself, Eve looked up the stairs, toward where Mavis
would be waiting. “The PA's office told me they wouldn't block bail, but still,
she's going to need... Roarke, I hate to ask you -- “

“You don't
have to. I've already contacted the best criminal defense team in the country.”

“I can't pay
you back for that.”

“Eve -- “

“I don't mean
the money.” She took a shuddering breath and gripped both of his hands. “You
don't really know her, but you believe in her because I do. That's what I can't
pay you back for. I have to go get her.”

“You want to
do it alone.” He understood, and had already convinced himself not to argue the
point. “I'll alert her lawyers. What are the charges?”

“Murder two.
I'll have to deal with the media. It's certainly going to leak that Mavis and I
have history.” She pulled her hands through her disordered hair. “That may
bleed over onto you.”

“Do you think
that worries me?”

She nearly
smiled. “No, I guess not. This may take awhile. I'll bring her back as soon as
I can.”

“Eve,” he
murmured as she started up the stairs. “She believes in you, too. There's good
reason for it.”

“I hope you're
right.” Bracing herself, she continued up, walked slowly down the corridor to
Mavis's room, and knocked.

“Come on in,
Summerset. I told you I'd come down for the cake. Oh.” Surprised, Mavis leaned
back from the computer where she'd been struggling to write a new song. To
cheer herself up, she'd worn a skin suit of bright sapphire and had dyed her
hair to match. “I thought it was Summerset.”

“And cake.”

“Yeah, he
buzzed in and told me the cook had baked a triple chocolate fudge cake.
Summerset knows I've got this weakness. I know the two of you don't get along,
but he's really sweet to me.”

“That's
because he keeps imagining you naked.”

“Whatever
works.” She began to tap her tricolored nails on the console in a quick,
nervous tattoo. “Anyway he's been great. I guess if he thought I had my eye on
Roarke, it'd be different. He's like totally devoted. You'd think Roarke was
his first and only born or something instead of his boss. That's the only
reason he gives you grief -- Well, and you being a cop doesn't help. I think
Summerset has this block about cops.”

She broke off,
trembled visibly. “I'm sorry, Dallas, I'm babbling. I'm so scared. You found
Leonardo, didn't you? Something's really, really wrong. He's hurt, isn't he?
He's dead.”

“No, he's not
hurt.” Eve crossed the room and sat on the foot of the bed. “He came into the
cop shop this morning. He had a cut on his arm, that's all. The two of you had
pretty much the same idea last night. He got tanked and headed for your place,
ended up cutting his arm on an empty bottle he dropped before he keeled.”

“He was
drunk?” Mavis sprang up at that. “He hardly ever drinks. He knows he can't. He
told me how he does things he can't remember if he drinks too much. It scares
him, and... To my place,” she said, eyes softening. “That's so sweet. Then he
came to see you because he couldn't find me.”

“He came to
see me to confess to the murder of Pandora.”

Mavis reared
back as if Eve had struck her. “That's impossible. Leonardo wouldn't hurt
anyone. He's just not capable of it. He was just trying to protect me.”

“He didn't
know anything about your involvement at that time. He believes he must have
argued with Pandora, fought with her, then killed her.”

“Well, that's
absolutely wrong.”

“So the
evidence indicates.” Eve rubbed her weary eyes, kept her fingers pressed there
for a moment. “The cut on his arm came from a piece of the broken bottle. None
of his blood was found at the scene, none of Pandora's was on the clothes he'd
been wearing. We haven't pinned down his movements precisely as yet, but we
don't have anything on him.”

Mavis missed a
beat, caught up. “Oh, then it's all right. You didn't believe him.”

“I haven't
decided that, but the evidence, at this point, keeps him clear.”

“Thank God.”
Mavis slid down onto the bed beside Eve. “When can I see him, Dallas? Leonardo
and I have to work things out between us.”

“That may take
a little time.” Eve squeezed her eyes shut, opened them again, made herself
look at Mavis. “I have to ask you for a favor, the biggest anyone's ever asked
you.”

“Is it going
to hurt?”

“Yeah.” Eve
watched Mavis's attempt at a smile fade away. “I have to ask you to trust me to
take care of you. To believe that I'm so good at my job that nothing, however
small, will get past me. I have to ask you to remember you're my closest
friend, and that I love you.”

Mavis's breath
started to jerk. Her eyes stayed dry, burning dry. The saliva evaporated from
her mouth. “You're going to arrest me.”

“The lab
reports came in.” She caught Mavis's hands, held them hard in hers. “They
weren't a surprise, because I knew someone had set things up. I was expecting
this, Mavis. I hoped I could find something -- anything -- before it did, but I
haven't been able to. Feeney's working on it, too. He's the best, Mavis, trust
me here. And Roarke's already lined up the top defense lawyers known to man.
It's just procedure.”

“You have to
arrest me for murder.”

“It's murder
two. That's a small break. I know it doesn't sound like one, but the PA's
office isn't going to try to block bail. I'll have you back here eating cake in
a few hours.”

But her mind
was replaying one segment, over and over. It's murder two. It's murder two.
“You have to put me in a cage.”

Eve's lungs
were burning, and the sensation was rapidly moving toward her heart. “Not for
long. I swear it. Feeney's working right now to get the preliminary hearing up
and running. He's got plenty of markers he can pull in. By the time we've got
you through booking, you'll have the hearing, the judge will set bail, and
you'll be back here.”

Wearing an
ident alarm to track her movements, Eve thought. Trapped in the house to avoid
the stalking media. The cage would be plush and friendly, but it would still be
a cage.

“You make it
sound easy.”

“It's not
going to be easy, but it'll be easier if you remember you've got a couple of
top cops on your side. Don't waive any of your rights, okay? Any of them. And
once we start this, you wait for your lawyers. Don't say anything to me you
don't have to say. Don't say anything to anyone. Understand me?”

“All right.”
Mavis drew her hands away, rose. “Let's get it over with.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

Hours later,
when it was done, Eve stepped back into the house. The lights were low. She
hoped Mavis had taken the tranq Eve had recommended and gone to sleep. Eve
already knew she wouldn't do the same.

She knew
Feeney would have followed her request to pass Mavis personally over to Roarke.
There had been other work to do. The press conference had been particularly
hideous. As expected, questions about her friendship with Mavis had been
brought up, conflict of interest hinted at. She owed the commander a great deal
for the appearance he'd put in and his statement of absolute faith in his
primary investigator.

The one on one
with Nadine Furst had been a little easier. All you had to do, Eve
thought glumly as she climbed the stairs, was save a person's life, and they
were happy to take your side. The blood lust for the story might have been
in Nadine's heart, but so was a sense of debt. Mavis would get fair treatment
from Channel 75.

Then Eve had
done something she had never believed she would do. She had voluntarily called
the police psychiatrist and made an appointment to talk with Dr. Mira.

Could still
cancel it, she reminded herself and
rubbed her gritty eyes. Probably will cancel it.

“You're quite
late, Lieutenant, after an eventful day.”

She dropped
her hands and saw Summerset step silently out of a room to her right. He was,
as usual, dressed in his stiff black, his stern face set in disapproving lines.
Hating her seemed to be something he did with almost as much seamless skill as
he ran the household.

“Don't hassle
me, Summerset.”

He stepped
directly into her path. “I had believed, though you have countless flaws, you
were, at least, a competent investigator. I see now, you are not, any more than
you are a competent friend to one who depended on you.”

“You really
think after what I've been through tonight that you can say anything to touch
me?”

“I don't
believe anything touches you, Lieutenant. You're without loyalty and that makes
you nothing. Less than nothing.”

“Maybe you've
got a suggestion of how I could have handled it. Maybe I should have had Roarke
fire up one of his JetStars and shoot Mavis off planet to some remote little
hideaway. Then she could be on the run for the rest of her life.”

“At least then
she might not have wept herself to sleep.”

The arrow
pierced, directly under the heart where it had been aimed. Pain shimmered
through fatigue. “Get out of my way, you bastard, and keep out of my way.” She
shoved by him, but stopped herself from running. She walked into the master
bedroom just as Roarke was replaying her press conference on screen.

“You did well
here,” he said and rose. “Under tremendous pressure.”

“Yeah, I'm a
real pro.” She walked into the bathroom, then stood staring at herself in the
mirror. She saw a woman, pale face, dark, shadowed eyes, grim mouth. And she
saw beyond it to helplessness.

“You're doing
everything you can,” Roarke said quietly from behind her.

“You got her
good lawyers.” Ordering water cold, she leaned down, splashed it liberally over
her face. “They juggled me through Interview. I was tough. Gotta be tough. But
they've got some moves on them. Next time I've got to grill a friend, I'll be
sure to sign them up.”

He watched her
bury her face in a towel. “When's the last time you've eaten?”

She merely
shook her head. The question had no relevance. “The reporters were out for
blood. Someone like me's very juicy game. Couple of high-profile cases, I come
out on top. Some of them would just love to see me take it between the eyes.
Think of the ratings.”

“Mavis doesn't
blame you, Eve.”

“I blame me,”
she exploded, heaving the towel aside. “I blame me, goddamn it. I told her to
trust me, I told her I'd take care of things. How did I take care of it,
Roarke? I arrested her, I booked her. Prints, mug shots, voice ident, all of it
on file now. I put her through a horrible two-hour interview. I locked her in a
cell until the lawyers you hired for her got her out on bail you posted. I hate
myself.”

She broke,
simply broke. Covering her face with her hands, she began to sob.

“It's about
time you let go.” Briskly, he scooped her into his arms and carried her up to
the bed. “You'll feel better for it.” He kept her cradled in his arms, stroked
her hair. Whenever she cried, he thought, it was a storm, a passionate tumult.
Rarely were there a few easy, quiet tears for Eve. Rarely was anything easy for
Eve.

“This isn't
helping,” she managed.

“Yes, it is.
You'll purge some of that misplaced guilt and some of the grief you're entitled
to. You'll think more clearly tomorrow.”

She was down
to shuddering breaths and a raging headache. “I have to work tonight. I'm going
to run some names and scenarios for probability.”

No, he thought
quite calmly, she won't. “Take a minute. Get something to eat.” Before she
could protest, he was shifting her aside and moving to the AutoChef. “Even your
admirable system needs fuel. And there's a story I want to tell you.”

“I can't waste
time.”

“It won't be
wasted.”

Fifteen
minutes, she thought, as the scent of
something glonous wafted toward her. “Let's make it a quick meal and a short
story, okay?” She rubbed at her eyes, not sure if she was ashamed or relieved
to have let the cork pop and spew out the tears. “Sorry I blubbered on you.”

“I'm always
available for blubbering.” He came toward her with a steaming omelette and a
cup. He sat down, stared into her swollen, exhausted eyes. “I adore you.”

She flushed.
It seemed he was the only one who could bring embarrassed color to her cheeks.
“You're trying to distract me.” She took the plate and a fork. “That kind of
stuff always does, and I can never get my tongue around what I should say
back.” She sampled the eggs. “Maybe something like you're the best thing that
ever happened to me.”

“That'll do.”

She lifted the
cup, started to sip, then scowled. “This isn't coffee.”

“It's tea, for
a change. A soothing blend. I imagine you're overloaded on caffeine.”

“Maybe.”
Because the eggs were fabulous and she didn't have the energy to argue, she
took a sip. “It's nice. Okay, what's the story?”

“You've
wondered why I keep Summerset, even when he's... less than solicitous to you.”

She snorted.
“You mean even though he hates my fucking guts. Your business.”

“Our
business,” he corrected.

“Anyway, I
don't want to hear about him right now.”

“It's actually
more about me, and an incident that you might find correlates with what you're
feeling right now.” He watched her drink again, calculated he had just enough
time to tell the tale. “When I was very young, and still in Dublin on the
street, I hooked up with a man and his daughter. The little girl was, well, an
angel, gold and rose with the sweetest smile on either side of heaven. They ran
confidence games, superbly. Short cons for the most part, bilking foolish marks
and making a reasonable living. At that time, I was doing somewhat the same
myself, but I liked variety, and enjoyed picking pockets and organizing
floating games. My father was still alive when I met Summerset -- though he
didn't go by that name then -- and his daughter, Marlena.”

“So, he was a
con,” she said between bites. “I knew there was something shifty about him.”

“He was quite
brilliant. I learned a lot from him, and I like to think he from me. In any
case, after one particularly enthusiastic beating from my dear old da, he
happened to find me unconscious in an alley. He took me in. He took care of me.
There was no money for a doctor, and I didn't have a medical card. What I did
have was a few broken ribs, a concussion, and a fractured shoulder.”

“I'm sorry.”
The image brought back others, ones that dried up the spit in her mouth. “Life
sucks.”

“It did.
Summerset was a man of many talents. He had some medical training. He often
used an MT disguise in his work. I wouldn't go so far as to say he saved my
life. I was young and strong and used to it, but he certainly kept me from
suffering needlessly.”

“You owe him.”
Eve set the empty plate aside. “I understand. It's all right.”

“No, that's
not it. I owed him. I paid him back. There were times he owed me. After my
father met his unmourned end, we became partners. Again, I wouldn't say he
raised me, I took care of myself, but he gave me what might be considered a
family. I loved Marlena.”

“The
daughter.” She had to shake her head to clear it. “I'd forgotten. Hard to
picture that dried up old fart as a father. Where is she?”

“She's dead.
She was fourteen. I was sixteen. We'd been together, more or less, for about
six years. One of my gambling projects was turning a tidy profit, and it came
to the attention and the disapproval of a small, particularly violent
syndicate. They felt I was cutting into their territory. I felt I was carving
out my own. They threatened. I was arrogant enough to ignore them. Once or
twice they tried to get their hands on me, to teach me respect, I imagine. But
I was difficult to catch. And I was gaining power, even prestige. I was
certainly making money. Enough that between us we were able to buy a small,
very decent flat. And somewhere along the way, Marlena fell in love with me.”

He paused,
looking down at his own hands, remembering, regretting. “I cared for her a
great deal, but not as a lover. She was beautiful, and unbelievably innocent,
despite the life we led. I didn't think of her romantically, but as a man --
because I was a man already -- might think of a perfect piece of art:
romantically. Never sexually. She had different ideas, and one night she came
into my room and rather sweetly, and terrifyingly, offered herself to me. I was
appalled, furious, and scared to the bones. Because I was a man, and therefore,
tempted.”

His lifted his
gaze to Eve's again, and there was storm in them. “I was cruel to her, Eve, and
sent her away shattered. She was a child, and I devastated her. I've never
forgotten the look on her face. She trusted me, believed in me, and I, by doing
what was right, betrayed her.”

“The way I
betrayed Mavis.”

“The way
you're thinking you did. But there's more. She left the house that night.
Summerset and I didn't know she was gone until the next day, the next morning
when the men who wanted me sent word that they had her. They sent back the
clothes she'd been wearing, and there was blood on them. For the first time in
my life, and the last, I saw Summerset unable to function. I would have given
them anything they demanded, done anything. I would have traded myself for her
without hesitation. Just as you, if you could, would trade places with Mavis
now.”

“Yes.” Eve set
the empty cup aside woozily. “I'd do anything.”

“Sometimes
anything comes too late. I contacted them, told them we would negotiate, begged
them not to hurt her. But they had already hurt her. They had raped her and
tortured her, this delightful fourteen-year-old girl who had found so much joy
in life, and who was just beginning to feel what women feel. Within hours of
that first contact, her body was dumped on my doorstep. They had used her as no
more than a means to an end, to make a point to a competitor, an upstart. She
wasn't even human to them, and there was nothing I could do to go back and
change what had happened.”

“It wasn't
your fault.” She reached out and took his hands. “I'm sorry. So sorry, but it
wasn't your fault.”

“No, it
wasn't. It took me years to believe that, to understand and accept that.
Summerset never blamed me, Eve. He could have. She was his life, and she had
suffered and died because of me. But he never once blamed me.”

She sighed,
closed her eyes. She knew what he was telling her, by repeating a tale that had
to be a nightmare for him to relive. Neither was she to blame. “You couldn't
stop what happened. You could only control what happened after, the way I can
only do everything I can to find the answers.” Wearily, she opened her eyes
again. “What did happen after, Roarke?”

“I hunted down
the men who had done it, and I killed them, in as slow and as painful a method
as I could devise.” He smiled. “We each have our own way of finding solutions
and justice, Eve.”

“Vigilantism
isn't justice.”

“Not for you.
But you'll find the solution and justice for Mavis. No one doubts it.”

“I can't let
her stand trial.” Her head lolled; she snapped it back. “I have to find... I
need to go...” She couldn't even lift her weighted arm to her head. “Damn it,
Roarke, damn it, that was a tranq.”

“Go to sleep,”
he murmured and gently unhooked her weapon harness and set it aside. “Lie
back.”

“Inducing
chemicals on unknowing people is a violation of...” She slipped deeper, barely
felt him unbutton her shirt.

“Arrest me in
the morning,” he suggested. He undressed her, then himself, before slipping
into bed beside her. “Just sleep now.”

She slept, but
even there, dreams chased her.

*** CHAPTER EIGHT ***

She did not
wake up cheerful. She did wake alone, which was probably a wise move on
Roarke's part, but she didn't surface with a smile. There were no aftereffects
from the tranq, which made him a very lucky man. She woke alert, refreshed, and
pissed.

The electronic
memo beeping its red light on the nightstand didn't improve the mood. Nor did
Roarke's smooth voice when she engaged it.

“Good morning,
Lieutenant. Hope you slept well. If you're up before eight, you'll find me in
the breakfast nook. I didn't want to disturb you by ordering up. You looked so
peaceful.”

“Not for
long,” she said between gritted teeth. She managed to shower, dress, and strap
on her weapon in ten minutes flat.

The breakfast
nook, as he charmingly called it, was a huge, sunny atrium off the kitchen. Not
only was Roarke there, but so was Mavis. Both of them beamed blindingly as Eve
strode in.

“We're going
to get a couple things straight here, Roarke.”

“Your color's
back.” Pleased with himself, he rose and nipped a kiss onto the tip of her
nose. “That gray cast to your skin didn't suit you.” Then he grunted as her
fist jammed into his stomach. He cleared his throat manfully. “Your energy
level's obviously up, too. Want coffee?”

“I want you to
know that if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I'll...” She trailed off,
narrowed her eyes at Mavis. “What are you grinning at?”

“It's fun to
watch. You two are so tipped over each other.”

“So tipped
he's going to end up on his back checking out the ceiling if he doesn't watch
out.” But she continued to study Mavis, baffled. “You look... fine,” she
decided.

“I am. I had a
good cry, a big bag of Swiss chocolates, and then I stopped feeling sorry for
myself. I've got the number-one cop in the city working on my side, the best
team of lawyers a billionaire can buy, and a guy who loves me. See, I figured
out that when this is all over, and it's going to work out, I'll be able to
look back on it as kind of an adventure. And with all the media attention, my
career's going to soar.”

Reaching up,
she took Eve's hand and tugged her down on the padded bench. “I'm not scared
anymore.”

Not willing to
take the words to heart, Eve looked hard and long into Mavis's eyes. “You're
really not. You're really okay. I can see it.”

“I'm fine now.
I thought about it, and thought about it. When it all shakes down, it's pretty
simple. I didn't kill her. You'll find out who did, and when you do, it'll all
be over. Until then, I get to live in this incredible house, eat incredible
food.” She forked up a last bite of a paper-thin crepe. “And have my name and
face splashed all over the media.”

“That's one
way of looking at it.” Uneasy, Eve rose to program coffee for herself. “Mavis,
I don't want you to worry or be upset, but this isn't going to be a glide
through the park.”

“I'm not
stupid, Dallas.”

“I didn't mean
-- “

“You're
thinking I'm not aware of the worst that could happen. I am, but I just don't
believe the worst is going to happen. From now on, I'm thinking positive, and
I'm giving you that favor you asked me to give you yesterday.”

“Okay. We've
got a lot of work to do. I want you to concentrate, try to remember details.
Any detail, no matter how small or insignificant -- What's this?” she demanded
as Roarke set a bowl in front of her.

“Your
breakfast.”

“It's
oatmeal.”

“Exactly.”

She frowned at
it. “Why can't I have one of those crepes?”

“You can,
after you eat your oatmeal.”

Eyes hot, she
shoveled in a mouthful. “We're really going to talk.”

“You guys are
great together. I'm really glad I've had this chance to see it up close and
personal. Not that I didn't think it was great all along, but mostly I was just
jazzed that Dallas had landed a rich one.” Mavis beamed at Roarke.

“That's what
friends are for.”

“Yeah, but
it's so mag the way you keep her in line. Nobody ever could before.”

“Shut up,
Mavis. You think, and think hard, but you don't tell me anything until you've
cleared it with your lawyers.”

“They already
advised me of that. I figure it's going to work just like it does when I'm
trying to remember a name or where I put something. You stop thinking about it,
start doing other stuff, then zip, it pops into your head. So, I'm doing other
stuff, and the big one is the wedding. Leonardo said you need to do your first
fitting very soon.”

“Leonardo?”
Eve all but lunged out of the chair. “You've been talking to Leonardo?”

“The lawyers
cleared it. They think it's a good thing for us to resume our relationship. It
adds a sympathy and romance factor in the public awareness.” Mavis leaned an
elbow on the table and began to toy with the trio of earrings she'd hung in her
left lobe. “You know, they only ditched the truth detection test and hypnosis
because they can't be sure what I'll remember. They mostly believe me, but they
can't take chances. But they said seeing Leonardo is cool. So we need to set up
that fitting.”

“I don't have
time to think about fittings. Christ, Jesus, Mavis, you think I'm going to fuss
with designs and flowers now? I'm not getting married until this is cleared up.
Roarke understands that.”

Roarke took
out a cigarette, studied it. “No, he doesn't.”

“Now, listen
-- “

“No, you
listen.” Mavis stood up, her bright blue hair glinting in the sunlight. “I'm
not letting this mess screw up something this important to me. Pandora did her
best to fuck with my life and Leonardo's. And she did worse by dying. She is
not going to fuck with this. These plans are not on hold, Dallas, and you just
better make time in your schedule for the fitting.”

She couldn't
argue, not with the sheen of tears in Mavis's eyes. “Okay, fine. Great. I'll
deal with the stupid dress.”

“It's not a
stupid dress. It's going to be a sensational dress.”

“That's what I
meant.”

“Better.” She
sniffed, sat. “When can I tell him we'll get together for it?”

“Ah... listen.
It's better for your case, and your fancy lawyers would back me up, if you and
I aren't seen running around together. Primary investigator and defendant. It
doesn't look good.”

“You mean I
can't -- “ Mavis shut her mouth, regrouped. “All right then, we won't go
running around together. Leonardo can work here. Roarke won't mind, will you?”

“On the
contrary.” He took a satisfied drag on his cigarette. “I think it's a perfect
solution.”

“One big happy
family,” Eve mumbled. “The primary, the defendant, and the tenant of the murder
scene, who also happens to be the victim's former lover and the defendant's
current. Are you all insane?”

“Who's to
know? Roarke has excellent security. And if there's even the smallest chance
that things could go wrong, I want to spend whatever time I can with Leonardo.”
Mavis set her mouth in a stubborn pout. “So that's what I'm going to do.”

“I'll have
Summerset arrange for a work space.”

“Thanks. We
appreciate it.”

“While you
people orchestrate your mad tea party, I've got a murder to solve.”

Roarke winked
at Mavis and called after Eve as she stormed away, “What about your crepe?”

“Stuff it.”

“She's crazy
about you,” Mavis commented.

“It's almost
embarrassing, the way she fawns. Want another crepe?”

Mavis patted
her stomach. “Why the hell not?”

-=O=-***-=O=-

A downed
circuit at Ninth and Fifty-sixth played hell with street traffic. Both
pedestrians and drivers ignored the noise pollution laws and honked, shouted,
and buzzed out their frustrations. Eve would have rolled up her windows to cut
the din, but her temperature controls were on the fritz again.

To add to the
fun, Mother Nature had decided to body slam New York with a humature of a
hundred and ten. To pass the time, Eve watched the heat waves dance up from the
concrete. At this rate, more than a few computer chips were going to fry by
noon.

She considered
taking to the air, though her control panel seemed to have developed a mind of
its own. But several other harried drivers had already done so. The traffic
overhead was in a nasty snarl. A couple of one-man traffic copters were trying
to deal with it and instead added to the mess with the bee swarm buzz of their
blades and the irritating drone of voices.

She caught
herself snarling at the I LOVE NEW YORK hologram sticker on the bumper jammed
in front of hers.

The sanest
idea, she decided, was to get some work done in her car.

“Peabody,” she
ordered the 'link, and after a few frustrating hisses of static, it engaged.

“Peabody.
Homicide.”

“Dallas here.
I'm going to pick you up in front of the Cop Shop, west side. ETA, fifteen
minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bring all
files pertinent to the Johannsen case and the Pandora case, and be...” She
trailed off and squinted at the screen. “Why is it so quiet in there, Peabody?
Aren't you in the bull pen?”

“Only a couple
of us made it in this morning. There's a bad traffic snag on Ninth.”

Eve scanned
the sea of traffic. “Is that a fact?”

“It pays to
listen to the traffic network in the morning,” she added. “I took an alternate
route.”

“Shut up,
Peabody,” Eve muttered and broke transmission. She spent the next couple of
minutes retrieving messages from her desk 'link, then set up a morning
appointment at Paul Redford's office in midtown for an interview. She called
the lab to harass them for the toxicology report on Pandora, got the runaround,
and left them with a creative threat.

She was
debating whether to call Feeney and nag him when she saw a narrow break in the
wall of cars. She jogged forward, cut left, squeezed through, ignoring the rude
blast of horns and spearing middle fingers. Praying her vehicle would cooperate,
she punched vertical. Rather than spring up, she wavered, but she did rise the
minimum ten feet.

She swerved
right, nipped by a jammed people glide where she caught the blur of miserable,
sweaty faces, and rattled over to Seventh while her control panel warned of
overload. After five blocks, the car was wheezing, but she'd cleared the worst
of the jam. She set down with a teeth-rattling thud and swung toward the west
entrance of Cop Central.

The dependable
Peabody was waiting. How the woman managed to look cool and unperturbed in her
sweltering blues, Eve didn't want to know.

“Your vehicle
sounds a little rough, Lieutenant,” Peabody commented when she climbed in.

“Really? I
didn't notice.”

“You sound a
little rough yourself. Sir.” When Eve merely bared her teeth and started to cut
across town to Fifth, Peabody dug into her kit, took out a small porta-fan, and
clipped it to the dash. The blast of cool air nearly made Eve whimper.

“Thanks.”

“The
temperature control on this model isn't dependable.” Peabody's face remained
smooth and bland. “But you probably haven't noticed.”

“You've got a
clever mouth, Peabody. I like that about you. Give me a rundown on Johannsen.”

“The lab's
still having trouble with all the elements in the powder we found. They're
stalling. If they've completely analyzed the formula, they're not saying. The
buzz I get from a contact I have is, Illegals is demanding priority, so there's
some politicking going on. Second search found no trace of chemicals, illegal
or otherwise, in the victim's body.”

“So he wasn't
using,” Eve mused. “Boomer tended to sample, but he had himself a big, fat bag
of shit and didn't take a taste. What does that tell you, Peabody?”

“From the
state of his flop and the statement of the lobby droid, we know he had the time
and opportunity to use it. He had a history of chronic if mild abuse.
Therefore, my deduction would be he knew or suspected something about the
substance that put him off.”

“That would be
my guess. What do you get from Casto?”

“He claims to
be in the dark on this one. He's been cooperative, if not overly forthcoming,
with information and theories.”

Something in
the tone had Eve glancing over. “He coming on to you, Peabody?”

Peabody kept
her eyes straight forward, narrowed slightly under the bowl-cut fringe of
bangs. “He hasn't exhibited any inappropriate behavior.”

“Cut the
drill, pal, that's not what I asked.”

Color snuck up
under the collar of the standard-issue blues into her cheeks. “He's indicated a
certain personal interest.”

“Jesus, you
sound like a cop. Is this certain personal interest reciprocated?”

“It might be
considered, if I didn't suspect the subject had a much more personal interest
in my immediate superior.” Peabody slid her gaze to Eve's. “He's got a thing
for you.”

“Well, he'll
have to keep his thing to himself.” But she couldn't make herself completely
displeased to hear it. “My certain personal interests lie elsewhere. He's a
powerful looking sonofabitch, isn't he?”

“My tongue
gets all swelled up in my mouth when he looks at me.”

“Hmm.” Eve ran
her own around her teeth experimentally. “So go for it.”

“I'm not
prepared to become involved in a romantic relationship at this point.”

“Hell, who
said anything about relationship? Screw each other blind a couple times.”

“I prefer
affection and companionship in sexual encounters,” Peabody said stiffly. “Sir.”

“Yeah. It does
make a difference.” Eve sighed. It was almost a painful effort to keep her mind
from leapfrogging back to Mavis, but she tried to focus. “I was just ragging on
you, Peabody. I know what it's like when you're standing there, trying to do
your job, and some guy hits you between the eyes. I'm sorry if you're
uncomfortable working with him, but I need you.”

“It's not a
problem.” Loosening up, Peabody smiled. “And it's not exactly a sacrifice to
look at him.” She glanced up as Eve swung toward the underground parking
beneath a spearing white tower on Fifth. “Isn't this one of Roarke's
buildings?”

“Most of them
are.” The electronic attendant scanned her vehicle and passed it through. “This
is his main office. It's also the New York base of Redford Productions. I've
got an interview with him re the Pandora homicide.” Eve slipped into the VIP
spot Roarke had arranged for her, shut down her car. “You're not officially
attached to this case, but you're officially attached to me. Feeney's up to his
ass in data, and I want another set of eyes and ears. Objections?”

“None come to
mind, Lieutenant.”

“Dallas,” Eve
reminded her as they stepped from the car. The safety barrier blinked on,
surrounding the car to protect it from dings, scratches, and theft. As if, Eve
thought sourly, it didn't already have so many dings and scratches a thief
would insult himself by looking twice. She strode up to the private executive
elevator, entered her code, and tried not to be embarrassed. “Saves time,” she
muttered.

Peabody's eyes
widened as they stepped onto thick carpeting. The car was large enough for a
party of six, and boasted a lush arrangement of fragrant hibiscus. “I'm all for
saving time.”

“Thirty-fifth
floor,” Eve requested. “Redford Productions, executive offices.”

“Floor
three-five,” the computer acknowledged. “East quadrant, executive level.”

“Pandora had a
small party on the night she died,” Eve began. “Redford might be the last
person to have seen her alive. Jerry Fitzgerald and Justin Young also attended,
but left early after Mavis Freestone and Pandora fought. They alibi each other
for the rest of the night. Redford remained with Pandora for a time. If
Fitzgerald and Young are telling the truth, they're in the clear. I know Mavis
is telling the truth.” She waited a beat, but Peabody made no comment. “So we
see what we can shake out of the producer.”

The elevator
smoothly shifted to horizontal, gliding east. The doors opened and noise poured
in.

Obviously
Redford's employees liked music with their daily grind. It rocked out of
recessed speakers, filled the air with energy. Two men and a woman worked at a
wide circular console, chatting cheerfully into 'links, beaming at computer screens.

There appeared
to be a small party in progress in the waiting area to the right. Several
people milled around drinking from small cups or nibbling on tiny pastries. The
sound of tinkling laughter and cocktail hour conversation underscored the lively
music.

“It's like a
scene from one of his movies,” Peabody said.

“Hooray for
Hollywood.” Eve approached the console and took out her badge. She chose the
least obsessively pert of the three receptionists. “Lieutenant Dallas. I have
an appointment with Mr. Redford.”

“Yes,
Lieutenant.” The man -- or he might have been a god with his perfectly chiseled
golden looks -- smiled brilliantly. “I'll tell him you're here. Please help
yourself to some refreshments.”

“Want to chow
down, Peabody?”

“Those
pastries look pretty good. We could cop some on the way out.”

“Our minds are
in tune.”

“Mr. Redford
would love to see you now, Lieutenant.” The modern-day Apollo lifted a section
of the console, slipped through. “Just let me take you to him.”

He led them through
smoked glass doors where the noise switched to clashing voices. On either side
of the corridor, doors were open, and men and women sat at desks, paced, or
reclined on sofas, wheeling and dealing.

“How many
times have I heard that plot line, JT? It's so first millennium.”

“We need a
fresh face. Garboesque with Little Bo Peep innocence.”

“People don't
want depth, honeypot. Give 'em a choice between the ocean and a puddle, they're
going to splash in the puddle. We're all children.”

They
approached a pair of double doors in sparkling silver. The guide opened them
both with a dramatic sweep. “Your guests, Mr. Redford.”

“Thank you,
Caesar.”

“Caesar,” Eve
muttered. “I was so close.”

“Lieutenant
Dallas.” Paul Redford rose from behind a U-shaped workstation in the same
glittery silver as his doors. The floor he crossed was smooth as glass and
decorated with swirls of color. Behind him was the expected spectacular view of
the city. His hand clasped Eve's with easy, practiced warmth. “Thank you so
much for agreeing to come here. I'm juggling meetings all day and it's so much
more convenient for me than coming to you.”

“It's not a
problem. My aide, Officer Peabody.”

The smile, as
smooth and practiced as the handshake, encompassed them both. “Please sit down.
What can I offer you?”

“Just
information.” Eve glanced at the seating arrangement, blinked. They were all
animals: chairs, stools, sofas, all fashioned to resemble tigers, hounds, or
giraffes.

“My first wife
was a decorator,” he explained. “After the divorce, I decided to keep them.
They're the best memory of that time in my life.” He chose a basset hound for
himself propped his feet up on a cushion shaped like a curled cat. “You want to
talk about Pandora.”

“Yes.” If
they'd been lovers, as reported, Eve decided he'd gotten over his grief
quickly. A police interview apparently didn't affect him, either. He was
composed, the genial host in a five-thousand-dollar linen suit and
melted-butter Italian loafers.

He was, Eve
mused, undoubtedly as screen friendly as any of the actors he worked with. A
strong, bony face the color of fresh honey was accented with a well-trimmed,
glossy moustache. His dark hair was slicked back and twisted into a complicated
queue that dangled to his shoulder blades.

He looked, Eve
decided, like what he was: a successful producer who enjoyed his power and
wealth.

“I'd like to
record this, Mr. Redford.”

“I'd prefer
that, Lieutenant.” He leaned back into the embrace of the sad-eyed hound and
folded his hands on his stomach. “I heard you've made an arrest in this
matter.”

“We have. But
the investigation is ongoing. You were acquainted with the deceased, known as
Pandora.”

“Well
acquainted. I was considering a project with her, certainly had socialized with
her on a number of occasions over the years, and when it was convenient, had
sex with her.”

“Were you and
the victim lovers at the time of her death?”

“We were never
lovers, Lieutenant. We had sex. We did not make love. In fact, I doubt there
was a man alive who ever made love to her, or attempted to. If he did, he was a
fool. I'm not a fool.”

“You didn't
like her.”

“Like her?”
Redford laughed. “God, no. She was the singularly most dislikable human being
I've ever known. But she did have talent. Not as much as she believed, and none
at all in certain areas, and yet...”

He lifted his
elegant hands; rings sparkled: dark stones in heavy gold. “Beauty is easy,
Lieutenant. Some are born with it, others buy it. An attractive physical shell
is moronically simple to come by today. It's still desired. Pleasing looks
never fade from fashion, but in order to make a living from those looks, a
person has to have talent.”

“And Pandora's
was?”

“An aura, a
power, an elemental, even animalistic ability to exude sex. Sex has always,
will always sell.”

Eve inclined her
head. “Only now we license it.”

Amused,
Redford flashed her a smile. “The government needs its revenue. But I wasn't
referring to the selling of sex, but of using it to sell. And we do: everything
from soft drinks to kitchen appliances. And fashion,” he added. “Always
fashion.”

“And that was
Pandora's particular specialty.”

“You could
drape her in kitchen curtains, point her toward a runway, and reasonably
intelligent people would open their credit accounts wide to have that look. She
was a saleswoman. There was nothing she couldn't peddle. She wanted to act,
which was unfortunate. She could never be anyone but herself, but Pandora.”

“But you were
working on a project with her.”

“I was
considering one where she would essentially play herself. Nothing more, nothing
less. It may have worked. And the merchandizing from it... well, that's where
the profits would have poured in. It was still in the planning stages.”

“You were at
her home the night she died.”

“Yes, she
wanted company. And, I suspect, wanted to rub Jerry's nose in the idea of
starring in one of my films.”

“And how did
Ms. Fitzgerald take it?”

“She was
surprised, irritated, I imagine. I was irritated myself as we were far from
ready to go public. We might have had an interesting scene over it, but we were
interrupted. The young woman, the fascinating young woman who arrived on the
doorstep. The one you've arrested,” he said with a gleam in his eye. “The media
claim you're very close friends.”

“Why don't you
just tell me what happened when Ms. Freestone arrived?”

“Melodrama,
action, violence. Picture this,” he said and moved his hands to form the
age-old sign for a screen. “The young, brave beauty comes to plead her case.
She's been weeping, her face is pale, her eyes desperate. She will step aside,
give up the man both of them want, to protect him, to do what's best for his
career.

“Close up on
Pandora. Her face is filled with rage, disdain, a manic energy. Christ, the
beauty. It's almost evil. She won't be satisfied with sacrifice. She wants her
opponent to feel pain. Emotional pain first, by the cruel names she hurls, then
physical pain by striking the first blow. Now you have the classic struggle.
Two women locked in combat over a man. The younger woman has love on her side,
but even that isn't a match for the strength of Pandora's vengeance. Or her
sharpened nails. Fur, shall we say, flies, until the two male members of our
fascinated audience step in. One of them is bitten for his pains.”

Redford winced
and rubbed his right shoulder. “Pandora sank her fangs into me as I was
dragging her off. I have to say I was tempted to punch her myself. Your friend
left. She tossed off some typical cliche about Pandora being sorry, but she
looked more miserable than vindictive.”

“And Pandora?”

“Energized.”
And so was he with the telling of the tale. “She'd been in a dangerous mood all
evening, and it was only more treacherous after the bout. Jerry and Justin
bowed out, with more dispatch than grace, and I stayed behind awhile to try to
bring Pandora down.”

“Did you
succeed?”

“I didn't come
close. She was wild then. She threatened all manner of absurdities. She was
going to go after the little bitch and rip her face off. She was going to
castrate Leonardo. By the time she was finished, he wouldn't be able to peddle
buttons on the street corner. Not even beggars were going to wear his rags, and
so on. After about twenty minutes, I gave it up. She was furious with me then
for cutting the evening short, and shouted a lot of abuse after me. She didn't
need me, she had bigger deals, better deals.”

“You claim to
have left her at about twelve thirty?”

“That would be
close.”

“And she was
alone?”

“She only kept
domestic droids. She didn't like people around unless she summoned them. There
was no one else in the house, to my knowledge.”

“Where did you
go when you left?”

“I came here;
tended to my shoulder. It was a nasty bite. I thought I'd do a little work,
made some calls to the coast. Then I went to my club, used the after-hours
entrance, and spent a couple of hours having a steam, a swim.”

“What time did
you get to your club?”

“I'd say it
was around two. I know it was well past four when I got home.”

“Did you see
or speak to anyone during the hours of two and five A. M. ?”

“No. One of
the reasons I often use the club at those hours is for the privacy. I have my
own facilities on the coast, but here, I have to make do with membership.”

“The name of
your club?”

“The Olympus,
on Madison.” He arched a brow. “I see my alibi isn't without its problems. I
did, however, code in and out. It's required.”

“I'm sure it
is.” And she would certainly see if he had. “Are you aware of anyone who would
have wished Pandora harm?”

“Lieutenant,
the list would be as long as life.” He smiled again, perfect teeth, eyes that
were both amused and predatory. “I don't happen to count myself among them,
merely because she didn't matter that much to me.”

“Did you share
Pandora's latest drug of choice?”

He stiffened,
hesitated, then relaxed again. “That was an excellent ploy. Non sequiturs often
catch the unwary off guard. I'll state, for the record, that I never touch
illegals of any kind.” But his smile was wide and easy, and told her quite
plainly, he lied. “I was aware that Pandora dabbled now and again. I considered
it her own business. I'd have to agree that she'd found something new,
something she seemed to be overdoing. In fact, I'd come into her bedroom
earlier that last evening.”

He paused a
moment, as if thinking back, bringing a scene into focus. “She'd taken a pill
of some kind out of a small, beautiful little wooden box. Chinese, I think. The
box,” he added with a quick smile. “She was surprised because I was early, and
shoved the box into a drawer on her vanity and locked it. I asked what she was
protecting, and she said...” He paused again, eyes narrowed. “What did she say?
Her treasure, her fortune. No, no, something like: Her reward. Yes, I'm sure
that's what she said. Then she popped the pill, chased it with champagne. Then
we had sex. It seemed to me she was distracted at first, then suddenly she was
wild, insatiable. I don't believe it had ever been quite that potent between
us. We dressed and went down. Jerry and Justin were just arriving. I never
asked her any more about it. It just didn't apply to me.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

“Impressions,
Peabody?”

“He's slick.”

“So's slime.”
Eve shoved her hands into her pockets as the elevator descended, toyed with
loose credit tokens. “He despised her, but he slept with her, was willing to use
her.”

“I think he
found her pathetic, potentially dangerous, but marketable.”

“And, if that
marketability had waned or the danger increased, could he have killed her?”

“In a
heartbeat.” Peabody stepped into the garage first. “Conscience isn't his
priority. If this deal they had were tipping the wrong way, or if she had
anything to pressure him with, he'd erase her. People that smug, that
controlled, tend to have a lot of violence bubbling somewhere. And his alibi
sucks.”

“Yeah, it
does, doesn't it?” The possibilities made Eve grin. “We're going to check that
out, right after we go by Pandora's and find her cache. Inform Dispatch,” she
ordered. “Make sure we're clear to pop locks.”

“That wouldn't
stop you,” Peabody murmured, but engaged the 'link.

-=O=-***-=O=-

The box was
gone. It was such a stunning letdown that Eve stood in Pandora's lavishly
ornate bedroom staring down at the drawer for a full ten seconds before it
fully registered it was empty.

“This is a
vanity, right?”

“That's what
they call it. Look at all the bottles and pots on it. Creams for this, creams
for that. That's why it's called a vanity.” She couldn't help herself. Peabody
picked up ajar the size of the first joint of her thumb. “Ever Young cream. You
know what this shit goes for, Dallas? Five hundred over the counter at Saks.
Five hundred for a lousy half ounce. Talk about vanity.”

She set it
down again, ashamed she'd been tempted, even for an instant, to stick it in her
pocket. “You add all this stuff up, she's got ten, maybe fifteen thousand worth
of enhancements.”

“Get a grip,
Peabody.”

“Yes, sir.
Sorry.”

“We're looking
for a box. The sweepers have already done the standard here, taken in the discs
from her 'links. We know she didn't get any calls that night, or make any. From
here, anyway. She's pissed. She's revved. What does she do?”

Eve continued
to open drawers, paw through them as she spoke. “She drinks more, maybe, rants
around the house thinking of all the things she'd like to do to the people
who've ticked her off. Bastards, bitches. Who the hell do they think they are?
She can have anything and anyone she wants. Maybe she comes in here and pops
another pill, just to keep the energy up.”

Hopeful,
though it was a plain, enameled box rather than an ornate wooden one, Eve
flipped a lid. Inside was an assortment of rings. Gold, silver, gleaming
porcelain, carved ivory.

“Funny place
to keep jewelry,” Peabody commented. “I mean she's got this big glass chest
here for her costume, and the safe for the real stuff.”

Eve glanced
up, saw her aide was perfectly serious, and didn't quite muffle the laugh.
“They're not exactly jewelry, Peabody. Cock rings. You know, you put them over
it, then -- “

“Sure.”
Peabody shrugged, tried not to stare. “I knew that. Just -- a funny place to
keep them.”

“Yeah, sure is
silly to keep sex toys in a box next to the bed. Anyway, where was I? She's
using, chasing the pills with champagne. Somebody's going to pay for ruining
her evening. That fucker Leonardo is going to crawl, he's going to beg. She'll
make him pay for screwing some worthless slut behind her back, and for letting
the little bitch come around to her house -- her house, goddamn it -- and fuck
with her.”

Eve closed a
drawer, opened another. “Her security tags her as leaving the place just after
two. The door's on automatic lock. She doesn't call a car. It's at least a
sixty-block walk to Leonardo's, she's in ice-pick heels, but she doesn't take a
cab. There's no record of any company picking her up or dropping her. She's
registered for a palm 'link, but we haven't found it. If she had it with her
and made a call, either she or someone else disposed of the unit.”

“If she called
her killer, he or she should have been smart enough to ditch it.” Peabody began
a search of the two-level closet and managed not to hyperventilate over the
racks of clothes, many with price tags still attached. “She might have been
wired on something, but no way would she walk downtown. Half the shoes in this
closet aren't even scraped on the soles. She wasn't the walking kind.”

“She was
wired, all right. Damned if she's taking some stinking cab. All she has to do
is snap her fingers and she can have half a dozen eager slaves slathering to
take her anywhere she wants to go. So she snaps them. Somebody picks her up.
They go to Leonardo's. Why?”

Fascinated by
the way Eve juggled Pandora's point of view with her own, Peabody stopped the
search and watched Eve. “She insists. She demands. She threatens.”

“Maybe it's
Leonardo she calls. Or maybe it's somebody else. They get there, the security
camera's smashed. Or she smashes it.”

“Or the killer
smashes it.” Peabody pushed her way through a sea of ivory silk. “Because he's
already planning to do her.”

“Why take her
to Leonardo's if he's already planning it?” Eve demanded. “Or if it was Leonardo,
why dirty your own nest? I'm not sure murder was the priority, not yet. They
get there, and if Leonardo's story holds, the place is empty. He's off drinking
himself into a stupor and looking for Mavis, who is drinking herself into a
stupor. Pandora wants Leonardo there, she wants to punish him. She starts to
wreck the place, maybe she takes out some of her rage on her companion. They
fight. It escalates. He grabs the cane, maybe to defend himself, maybe to
attack. She's shocked, hurt, afraid. Nobody hurts her. What the hell is this?
Then he can't stop, or doesn't want to stop. She's lying there, and there's
blood everywhere.”

Peabody said
nothing. She'd seen the pictures of the scene. Could imagine it all happening
just as Eve related.

“He's standing
over her, breathing hard.” Eyes half closed, Eve tried to bring the shadowy
figure into focus. “Her blood's all over him. The smell of it's everywhere. But
he doesn't panic, can't afford to panic, doesn't let himself panic. What ties
her to him? The palm 'link. He takes that, pockets it. If he's smart, and he
has to be smart now, he goes through her things, makes sure there's nothing
that can lead to him. He wipes off the cane where he gripped it, anything else
he thinks he might have touched.”

In Eve's mind
it played like an old video, cloudy and full of shadows. The figure -- male,
female -- hurrying to cover tracks, moving around the body, stepping around the
pools of blood. “Have to be quick. Someone might come back. But have to be
thorough. Almost clean now. Then he hears someone coming in. Mavis. She calls
out for Leonardo, rushes back, sees the body, kneels beside it. Now it's even
more perfect. He knocks her out, then he curls her fingers around the cane,
maybe he even gives Pandora a few extra whacks. He takes that dead hand and
rakes its nails over Mavis's face, uses it to tear her clothes. He puts on
something, one of Leonardo's robes, to conceal his own clothes.”

She
straightened from her search of a bottom drawer and found Peabody staring at
her. “It's like you were there,” Peabody murmured. “I want to be able to do
that, to go in the way you do.”

“Walk in to a
few more murder scenes, and you will. The hard part's getting out again. Where
the hell is the box?”

“She could
have taken it with her.”

“I don't buy
that. Where's the key, Peabody? She locked this drawer. Where's the key?”

In silence,
Peabody took out her field unit, requested the list of items found in the
victim's purse or on her person. “There was no key taken into evidence.”

“So he got the
key, didn't he? And he came back here and took the box and anything else he
needed. Let's check the security disc.”

“Wouldn't the
sweepers have done that?”

“Why? She
wasn't killed here. All they were required to do was verify her time of
departure.” Eve walked over to the security monitor, ordered a replay for the
date and time in question. She watched Pandora storm out of the house, stride
quickly out of range. “Two oh eight. Okay, let's see what shakes. Time of death
was about three. Computer, advance to oh three hundred, proceed at triple real
time.” She focused on the chronometer. “Freeze image. Sonofabitch. See that,
Peabody.”

“I see it,
time skipped from four oh three to four thirty-five. Someone disengaged the
camera. Had to do it by remote. Had to know what they were doing.”

“Someone
wanted to get in bad enough, get something out bad enough, to risk it. For a
box of illegals.” Her smile was grim. “I've got a feeling dead in the gut,
Peabody. Let's go hassle the lab boys.”

*** CHAPTER NINE ***

“Why you wanna
give me grief, Dallas?”

Huddled in his
lab coat, Chief Tech Dickie Berenski -- Dickhead to those who knew and loathed
him -- tested a strand of pubic hair. He was a meticulous man, as well as a
monster pain in the ass. Though notoriously slow in testing, his batting
average in court was high enough to make him the MVP of the police and security
lab.

“Can't you see
I'm buried here? Jesus.” With his fussy spider fingers he adjusted the focus on
his micro-goggles. “Got us ten homicides, six rapes, a load of suspicious and
unattended deaths, and too many B and Es to think about. I'm not a fucking
robot.”

“Closest thing
to,” Eve muttered. She didn't like coming to the lab with its antiseptic air
and white walls. It was too much like a hospital, or worse, Testing. Any cop
who used maximum force resulting in termination was required to undergo
Testing. Her experiences with that particular intrusive routine hadn't been
pleasant. “Look, Dickie, you've had plenty of time to analyze the substance.”

“Plenty of
time.” He pushed back from the counter, and his eyes behind the goggles were
big and bold as an owl's. “You and every other cop in the city figures your
shit's a priority. Like we should drop every other thing and devote every
minute to you. You know what happens when the temperature rises, Dallas? People
go bat shit, that's what happens. All you gotta do is take them down, but me
and my team, we gotta shift through every hair and fiber. It takes time.”

His voice
shifted into whine and set Eve's teeth on edge. “I've got Homicide breathing
down my neck, and Illegals snapping at my heels over some goddamn bag of
powder. You got the prelim.”

“I need the
final.”

“Well, I
haven't got it.” His flappy lips pouted as he turned back and brought the
enhanced view of the hair on screen. “I gotta finish DNA on this.”

Eve knew how
to work him. She didn't like it, but she knew. “I've got two box-seat tickets
to the Yankee-Red Sox game tomorrow.”

His fingers
moved slowly over the controls. “Box seats?”

“Third-base
side.”

Dickie tipped
down his goggles to scan the room. Other techs were busy at their stations.
“Maybe I could get you a little more.” With one shove of his feet, he sent his
chair sliding to the right until he faced another screen. Cautious, he engaged
the keyboard and brought the file up manually. He tapped slowly, scanning the
screen. “Here's the problem, see? This element here.”

It was nothing
but color and foreign symbols to Eve, but she grunted as the data scrolled. The
unknown, she imagined, that even Roarke's unit couldn't identify. “That red
thing?”

“No, no, no,
that's a standard amphetamine. You find it in Zeus, in Buzz, in Smiley. Hell,
you can get a mild derivative of that in any over-the-counter pep-up. This
one.” He tapped a finger against a green squiggle.

“Okay, what is
it?”

“That's the
big question, Dallas. Never seen it before. The computer can't identify. My
best guess is it's something from off planet.”

“That ups the
stakes, doesn't it? Bringing an unknown from off planet can get you twenty
years in maximum lockup. Can you tell what it does?”

“I'm working
on it. It appears to have some of the same properties as an antiaging drug, and
with some of the same energizers. It beats hell out of free radicals. But
there's some nasty side effects when it's mixed with the other chemicals found
in the powder. You got most of it in the report. Enhanced sexual drive, which
is not a bad thing, but that's followed by violent mood swings. Increased
physical strength hooked up to a lack of control. This shit really dances
around in the old nervous system. You're going to feel terrific for a while,
practically invulnerable, you'll want to fuck like a rabbit, but you won't much
care if your chosen mate is interested. When the crash comes, it's going to be
hard and fast and the only thing that's going to level you out is another dose.
Keep taking it, keep flying up and diving down, and the nervous system's going
to go nutso. Then you die.”

“That's pretty
much what you've given me already.”

“That's
because I'm stuck on Element X. It's vegetation, I can tell you that. Similar
to the sharpleaf valerian found in the Southwest. Indians used the leaves for
healing. But valerian isn't toxic, and this is.”

“It's poison?”

“Taken alone
and in sufficient dosage, it would be, yeah. So are a lot of herbs and plants
used in medicine.”

“It's a
medicinal herb.”

“I didn't say
that. It's not yet identified.” He puffed out his cheeks. “But it's likely some
off planet hybrid. That's the best I've got right now. And you and Illegals
hassling me isn't going to make me find the answer quicker.”

“This isn't an
Illegals case, it's mine.”

“Tell them
that.”

“I will. Now, Dickie,
I need the toxicology on the Pandora homicide.”

“That's not my
baby, Dallas. That was dumped on Suzie-Q, and it's her twenty-four hours off.”

“You're chief
tech, Dickie, and I need the report.” She waited a beat. “There are two locker
room passes that go along with those box seats.”

“Yeah. Well,
it never hurts to spot-check your team.” He keyed in his code, then the file.
“She secured it, good for her. Chief Tech Berenski, override security on File
Pandora, ID 563922-H.”

VOICE PRINT
VERIFIED.

“Display
toxicology.”

TOXICOLOGY
TESTS STILL IN PROGRESS. PRELIMINARY RESULTS ON SCREEN.

“She'd been
drinking a lot,” Dickie murmured. “Top French bubbly. Probably died happy.
Looks like Dom, '55. That's good work for Suzie-Q. Added a little happy powder
to it. Our dead girl liked to party. Looks like Zeus... No.” His shoulders
bowed in as they did when he was intrigued or irritated. “What the hell is
this?”

When the
computer started to detail elements, he cut it off with an annoyed flick of the
finger and began to run the report manually. “Something mixed up here,” he
muttered. “Something screwy.”

His fingers
played over the controls like those of a well-trained pianist giving his first
recital. Slow, cautious, and accurate. Dallas watched symbols and shapes form,
disperse, realign. And she, too, saw the pattern.

“It's the
same.” Eyes steely, she looked over at the silent Peabody. “It's the same
stuff.”

“I didn't say
that,” Dickie interrupted. “Shut up and let me finish running this test.”

“It's the
same,” Eve repeated, “right down to that green squiggle of Element X. Question,
Peabody, what do a high-powered model and a second-rate weasel have in common?”

“They're both
dead.”

“You've
answered part one correctly. Care to try for part two and double your winnings?
How did they both die?”

The faintest
of smiles flitted around Peabody's mouth. “Beaten to death.”

“Now for the
grand prize and part three. What connects these two seemingly unrelated
murders?”

Peabody looked
down at the screen. “Element X.”

“We're on a
roll, Peabody. Transmit that report to my office, Dickie. Mine,” she repeated
when he glanced up at her. “Illegals calls, you don't know any more than you
knew before.”

“Hey, I can't
bury data.”

“Right.” She
turned on her heel. “I'll have those tickets delivered by five.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

“You knew,”
Peabody said as they took the sky glide to the Homicide sector. “Back at the
victim's apartment. You couldn't find the box, but you knew what was in it.”

“Suspected,”
Eve corrected. “A new blend, one she was proprietary about, increased sexual
performance and strength.” She checked her watch. “I got lucky. Working on both
cases at the same time, having them both on my mind. I worried I was just
overlapping, but then I started to wonder. I saw both bodies, Peabody. There
was the same overkill, the same viciousness.”

“I don't think
it was luck. I was in on both of them, too, and I was six steps behind the
whole way.”

“You catch up
fast.” Eve stepped off the glide to take the elevator to her level. “Don't beat
yourself up over it, Peabody. I've got more than double your time on the job.”

Peabody
stepped into the glass tube, gave a disinterested glance at the city below as
they climbed. “Why did you bring me in on these?”

“You've got
potential -- brains and guts. That's what Feeney told me when he brought me in
under him. That was Homicide, too. Two teenagers hacked to death and strewed
over the skyramp at Second and Twenty-fifth. I stumbled along about six paces
behind him, too. But I found my rhythm.”

“How'd you
know you wanted Homicide?”

Eve stepped
out of the tube, turned down the corridor toward her office. “Because death's
an insult anytime. When somebody hurries it along, that's the biggest insult of
all. Let's get a couple of coffees, Peabody. I want to put this all in black
and white before I take it to the commander.”

“I don't
suppose we could actually eat something.”

Eve tossed a
grin over her shoulder. “I don't know what's in my AutoChef, but...” She
trailed off as she walked in and found Casto sitting at her desk, long,
denim-clad legs propped up and crossed at the ankles. “Well, Casto, Jake T.,
you look right at home.”

“Been waiting
for you, darlin'.” He winked at her, then flashed a killer smile at Peabody.
“Hi, there, DeeDee.”

“DeeDee?” Eve
murmured, then walked over to order coffee.

“Lieutenant.”
Peabody's voice was stiff as iron, but her cheeks were glowing pink.

“It's a lucky
man who gets to work with a couple of cops who are not only smart but a joy to
look at. Could I get a cup of that, Eve? Strong and black and sweet.”

“You can have
the coffee, but I haven't got time for a consult. I have some paperwork to see
to, and an appointment in a couple of hours.”

“I won't keep
you.” But he didn't shift when she handed him the coffee. “I've been trying to
light a fire under Dickhead. The man's slower than a three-legged turtle. You
being primary, I figured you could requisition me a sample. I've got a private
lab we use now and then. They're quick.”

“I don't think
we want to take this out of the department, Casto.”

“The lab's
approved by Illegals.”

“I meant
Homicide. Let's give Dickie a little more time. Boomer isn't going anywhere.”

“Hey, you're
in charge. I'd just like to put this one behind me. Leaves a bad taste. Not
like this coffee.” He closed his eyes, sighed. “My Jesus, woman, where'd you
get this? It's gold.”

“Connections.”

“Ah, that rich
fiance of yours, sure.” He savored another sip. “A man would be hard pressed to
tempt you away with the offer of a cold beer and a taco.”

“Coffee's my
drink, Casto.”

“Can't blame
you.” He shifted his admiring gaze to Peabody. “How about you, DeeDee? Got a
taste for a cold one?”

“Officer
Peabody's on duty,” Eve said when Peabody was reduced to stammers. “We've got
work to do here, Casto.”

“I'll let you get
to it.” He unfolded his legs and stood. “Why don't you give me a call when you
go off duty, DeeDee? I know a place that has the best Mexican food this side of
the Rio Grande. Eve, you change your mind on letting me rush that sample
through, let me know.”

“Close the
door, Peabody,” Eve ordered when Casto sauntered out. “And wipe that drool off
your chin.”

Appalled,
Peabody lifted a hand. Finding her chin dry didn't improve her humor. “That's
not funny. Sir.”

“Cut out the
'sir.' Anybody who goes around answering to DeeDee loses five points on the
dignity scale.” Eve dropped down in the seat recently warmed by Casto. “What
the hell did he want?”

“I thought he
told us clearly enough.”

“No, that
wasn't enough to bring him over here.” She leaned forward, engaged her machine.
A quick test of security showed no breaches. “If he was in here, I can't tell.”

“Why would he
go into your files?”

“He's
ambitious. If he could close the case ahead of me, it would look damn good. And
Illegals doesn't like to share, anyway.”

“And Homicide
does?” Peabody said dryly.

“Hell no.” She
looked up, grinned. “Let's get this report hammered out. We're going to have to
request an off world toxicology expert. We better be able to back up the hole
we're going to put in the budget.”

Thirty minutes
later, they were summoned to the office of the chief of police and security.

-=O=-***-=O=-

Eve liked
Chief Tibbie. He was a big man with a bold mind and a heart that was still more
cop than politician. After the stench the former chief had left behind, the
city and the department had needed the kind of brisk, cold air Tibbie brought
with him.

But she didn't
know what the hell they'd been called in for. Not until she was ushered in and
saw Casto and his captain.

“Lieutenant,
Officer,” Tibbie gestured to chairs. In a strategic move, Eve chose one beside
Commander Whitney.

“We have a
little squabble to settle,” Tibbie began. “We're going to settle it quickly and
finally. Lieutenant Dallas, you are primary on the Johannsen and the Pandora
homicides.”

“Yes, sir, I
am. I was called in to confirm identification of Johannsen's body, as he was
one of my informants. In the Pandora case, I was called to the scene by Mavis
Freestone, who has been charged in that case. Both files are still open and
under investigation.”

“Officer
Peabody is your aide.”

“I requested
her as my aide and was authorized to attach her to my caseload by my
commander.”

“Very well.
Lieutenant Casto, Johannsen was also one of your informants.”

“He was. I was
on another case when his body was taken in. I wasn't notified until later.”

“And at that
time, the Illegals and Homicide departments agreed to cooperate on the
investigation.”

“We did.
However, recent information has come to my attention that puts both of these
cases under Illegals jurisdiction.”

“They're
homicides,” Eve interrupted.

“With the link
of illegal substances connecting both.” Casto's easy smile flashed. “The latest
lab report shows that the substance discovered in Johannsen's room was also
found in Pandora's system. This substance contains an unknown, and is not yet
rated, which under Article Six, Section Nine, Code B, puts all related cases
under the investigative head of Illegals.”

“Exception to
which is granted with such cases that are already under investigation by
another department.” Eve forced herself to take a deep breath. “My report on
these matters will be complete within the hour.”

“Exceptions
are not automatic, Lieutenant.” The Illegals captain tapped his fingertips
together. “The simple fact is, Homicide doesn't have the manpower, experience,
or the facilities to investigate an unknown. Illegals does. And we don't feel
it was in the spirit of cooperation to hold data back from our department.”

“Your
department and Lieutenant Casto will be copied when my report is complete.
These are my cases -- “

Whitney lifted
a hand before she could spit. “Lieutenant Dallas is primary. If these cases are
linked with illegals, they are still homicides, which she has been
investigating.”

“With respect,
Commander,” Casto dimmed his smile, “it's well known at Cop Central that you
favor the lieutenant, and rightfully so, given her record. We requested this
meeting with Chief Tibbie so as to insure a fair judgment on departmental
priority. I have more street contacts, and a relationship with merchants and
distributors of chemicals. While working undercover, I've gained access to
mills, factories, and chem-houses which the lieutenant simply doesn't have.
Added to that is the fact that there is a suspect charged with the Pandora
homicide.”

“A suspect who
had absolutely no connection with Johannsen,” Eve broke in. “They were killed
by the same person, Chief Tibbie.”

His eyes
remained cool. Any approval or lack thereof was carefully masked. “Is that your
opinion, Lieutenant?”

“That's my
professional judgment, sir, which I will show cause for in my report.”

“Chief, it's
no secret that Lieutenant Dallas has a personal interest in the suspect
charged.” The captain spoke tersely. “It would be natural for her to want to
cast a cloud over the case. How can her professional judgment remain clear when
the suspect is a close friend?”

Tibbie held up
a finger to halt Eve's outburst. “Commander Whitney, your opinion?”

“I will and
have relied without qualification on Lieutenant Dallas's judgment. She'll do
her job.”

“I agree.
Captain, I don't much care for disloyalty in the ranks.” The reprimand was
mild, but the aim deadly. “Now, both departments have a valid point here on
priority. Exceptions are not automatic, and we are dealing with an unknown
which appears to be involved in at least two deaths. Both Lieutenant Dallas and
Lieutenant Casto have exemplary records, and each, I believe, are more than
competent to investigate these matters. Do you agree, Commander?”

“Yes, sir,
both are excellent cops.”

“Then, I
suggest they cooperate with each other instead of playing games. Lieutenant
Dallas will remain primary, and as such, will keep Lieutenant Casto and his
department apprised of any and all progress. Now is that it, or do I have to
threaten to cut a baby in two like Solomon?”

-=O=-***-=O=-

“Get that
report finished, Dallas,” Whitney muttered as they filed out. “And next time
you bribe Dickhead, do a better job of it.”

“Yes, sir.”
Eve glanced down at the hand on her arm, looked up at Casto.

“Had to give
it a shot. The captain, he likes those clutch RBIs.”

She didn't
miss his not-so-subtle reference to baseball. “No problem, since I'm still the
one up at bat. You'll get my report, Casto.”

“Appreciate
it. I'll do some more poking around on the streets. So far, nobody knows
anything about a new blend. But this off planet angle might open something up.
I know a couple drones in Customs who owe me.”

Eve hesitated,
then decided it was time to take the term cooperation to heart. “Try Stellar
Five for a start. Pandora came back from there a couple of days before she
died. I still have to backtrack and see if she did any station hopping.”

“Good. You let
me know.” He smiled and the hand that was still on her arm slid down to her
wrist. “I got a feeling, now that we've aired this out, we'll make a hell of a
team. Closing this one up's going to look good on both of our files.”

“I'm more
interested in finding a murderer than I am in how it affects my promotion
status.”

“Hey, I'm all
for justice.” His dimple winked. “But I ain't going to cry if making it pushes
me closer to a captain's salary. No hard feelings?”

“No. I'd have
done the same.”

“That's fine
then. I might just drop around for some more of the coffee one day soon.” He
gave her wrist a quick squeeze. “And, Eve, I hope you clear your friend. I mean
that.”

“I will clear
my friend.” He'd taken two strides away when she admitted she couldn't resist.
“Casto?”

“Yeah,
darling?”

“What'd you
offer him?”

“Dickhead?”
The grin was as wide as Oklahoma. “A case of unblended scotch. He snatched at
it the way a frog's tongue snatches a fly.” Casto flicked his own tongue out,
winked again. “Nobody bribes better than an Illegals cop, Eve.”

“I'll remember
that.” Eve stuck her hands in her pockets, but couldn't help but grin. “He's
got style, I'll give him that.”

“And a great
butt,” Peabody said before she could stop herself. “Just an observation.”

“One I have to
agree with. Well, Peabody, we won that battle. Let's go try for the war.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

By the time
the report was complete, Eve's eyes were all but crossed. She sent Peabody off
duty as soon as copies were transmitted to all necessary parties. She
considered canceling her session with the shrink, thought of all the reasons
why she could and should postpone it.

But she found
herself in Dr. Mira's office at the appointed time, taking in the familiar scents
of herbal tea and subtle perfume.

“I'm glad you
came to see me.” Mira crossed her silk-draped legs. She'd had her hair
restyled, Eve noted. It was cut short and sleek rather than tucked up in a
smooth roll. The eyes were the same, of course, quiet and blue and filled with
ready understanding. “You look well.”

“I'm fine.”

“I can't see
how you would be, with so much going on in your life. Professionally and
personally. It must be tremendously difficult for you to have such a close
friend charged with a murder you're investigating. How are you handling it?”

“I'm doing my
job. By doing it, I'll clear Mavis and find out who set her up.”

“Do you find
your loyalties divided?”

“No, not after
I thought about it.” Eve rubbed her hands on the knees of her trousers. Damp
palms were a usual side effect of her meetings with Mira. “If I had any doubt,
any doubt at all that Mavis was innocent, I'm not sure what I would do. But I
don't, so the answer's clear.”

“That's a comfort
to you.”

“Yeah, you
could say that. I'll feel a hell of a lot more comfortable after I close the
case and she's out of it. I guess I was worried when I made the appointment to
see you. But I feel more in control now.”

“That's
important to you. Feeling in control.”

“I can't do my
job unless I know I have the wheel.”

“And in your
personal life?”

“Shit, nobody
grabs the wheel from Roarke.”

“He's running
things then?”

“He would if
you let him.” She gave a short laugh. “He'd probably say the same about me. I
guess we do a lot of juggling for the controls, end up heading in the same
direction anyway. He loves me.”

“You sound
surprised.”

“Nobody ever
did. Not like this. It's easy to say, for some people. The words. But it's not
just words with Roarke. He sees inside me, and it doesn't matter.”

“Should it?”

“I don't know.
I don't always like what I see there, but he does. Or at least he understands
it.” And now Eve understood that this was what she'd needed to talk through.
Those black, ragged edges inside her. “Maybe it's because we both had lousy
beginnings. We knew, when we should have been too young to know, how cruel
people can be. How power doesn't just corrupt in the wrong hands, it mutilates.
He -- I never made love before him. I had sex, but I never felt anything but
basic release. But I could never be... intimate,” she decided. “Is that the
word?”

“Yes, I think
that's exactly the word. Why do you think you achieved intimacy with him?”

“He wouldn't
have it any other way. Because he...” She felt her eyes begin to tear and
blinked them dry. “Because he opened something inside me I'd closed off. No,
that had been scarred shut. Somehow, he took control of that part of me, or I
let him have control of that part of me that died. That was killed when I was a
child when...”

“You'll feel
better if you say it, Eve.”

“When my
father raped me.” She let out a shuddering breath and the tears didn't matter
any longer. “He raped me, and he violated me, and he hurt me. He used me like a
whore when I was too small and too weak to stop him. He would hold me down, or
tie me up. He would hit me until I could hardly see, or he would hold his hand
over my mouth so that I couldn't scream. And he would push himself into me, and
ram himself into me until the pain was almost as obscene as the act. And there
was no one to help me, and nothing to do but wait for the next time.”

“Do you
understand that you weren't to blame?” Mira asked gently. When an abscess
was finally lanced, she thought, one had to carefully, thoroughly, slowly, squeeze
out all the poison. “Not then, not now, not ever?”

Eve used the
back of her hand to wipe her cheeks dry. “I wanted to be a cop. Because cops
have control. They stop the bad guys. It seemed simple. After I was a cop for a
while, I began to see that there are some who always prey on the weak and the
innocent.” Her breath steadied. “No, it wasn't my fault. It was his, and the
fault of the people who pretended not to see or to hear. But I still have to
live with it, and it was easier to live with it when I didn't remember.”

“But you've
been remembering for a long time, haven't you?”

“Bits and
pieces. Everything before I was found in the alley when I was eight was just
bits and pieces.”

“And now?”

“More pieces,
too many pieces. And it's clearer, closer.” She rubbed a hand over her mouth,
deliberately lowered it to her lap again. “I can see his face. I didn't used to
be able to see his face. During the DeBlass case last winter -- I guess there
were enough similarities there to click. Then there was Roarke, and it all
started to come back clearer and faster. I can't stop it.”

“Is that what
you want?”

“I'd wipe
those eight years out of my mind if I could.” She said it viciously, felt it
viciously. “They have nothing to do with now. I don't want them to have anything
to do with now.”

“Eve, as
horrible as those eight years were, and as obscene, they formed you. They
helped build your strength, your compassion for the innocent, your complexity,
your resilience. Remembering, and dealing with those memories, won't change
what you are. I've often recommended you agree to autohypnosis. I no longer do.
I believe your subconscious is letting these memories surface at its own pace.”

If that were
so, Eve wanted the pace to slow, to let her breathe. “Maybe there are some
things I'm not ready to remember. Still, it doesn't stop. There's a dream that
keeps coming back. Just lately and constantly. There's a room, a filthy room
with this dull red light blinking in the window. Off and on. There's a bed.
It's empty, but it's stained. I know it's blood. A lot of blood. I see myself
curled in the corner on the floor. There's more blood. I'm covered with it. I
can't see my face, it's toward the wall. I can't see clearly at all, but it has
to be me.”

“Are you
alone?”

“I think so. I
can't tell. I only see the bed, the corner, and that light blinking off and on.
There's a knife on the floor beside me.”

“There weren't
any stab wounds on you when you were found.”

Eyes hollow
and haunted lifted to Mira's. “I know.”

*** CHAPTER TEN ***

Eve expected
the cold blast of Summerset's disapproval when she walked into the house. She
was used to it. She couldn't explain what perverse streak she'd developed when
she found herself disappointed that he didn't greet her at the door with some
snide comment.

She stepped
into the parlor off the foyer, engaged the wall sensor. “Where is Roarke?”

ROARKE IS IN
THE GYMNASIUM, LIEUTENANT. DO YOU WISH TO CONTACT?”

“No.
Disengage.” She'd go see him herself. A good sweaty workout might be just what
she needed to clear her mind.

She took the
stairs behind the faux panel in the hallway, descended a level, and cut through
the pool area with its black-bottomed lagoon and tropical greenery.

There was a
whole world down here, she thought. Another of Roarke's worlds. The lush pool
with an overhead that could simulate starlight, sunshine, or moonbeams at the
flick of a control; the holoroom where hundreds of games could be accessed to
while away a slow night; a Turkish bath; an isolation tank; the target range; a
small theater; and a meditation lounge superior to any offered in the pricey
health spas on or off planet.

Toys, she
supposed, for the rich. Or Roarke might call them survival tools -- a necessary
means of relaxation in a world that moved faster every day. He balanced
relaxation and work better than she -- Eve could admit that. Somehow he had
found the key to enjoying what he had while protecting it and gathering more.

She'd learned
quite a bit from Roarke over the past few months. One of the most important
lessons was that there were times she had to push aside all the worries, the
responsibilities, even the thirst for answers, and just be Eve.

That was what
she thought of now as she slipped into the gym and coded the door to lock
behind her.

He wasn't a
man to stint on his equipment, nor was he one to take the easy way and pay to
have his body sculpted, his muscles toned, his organs flushed. Sweat and effort
were as important to him as the gravity bench, the aqua track, or the
resistance center. Because he was a man who appreciated tradition, his personal
gym was also stocked with old-fashioned free weights, incline benches, and a
virtual reality system.

He was using
the first of those now, doing long, slow curls as he watched a monitor flash
with some sort of schematic and spoke to someone on a head 'link.

“Security's a
priority at the resort, Teasdale. If there's a flaw, find it. And fix it.” He
frowned at the screen, switched fluidly from curls to extensions. “You'll
simply have to do better. If you're going to have cost overruns, you'll have to
justify them to me. No, I didn't say excuse them to me, Teasdale. Justify them.
Have a report transmitted to my office by oh nine hundred on-planet time.
Disengage.”

“You're tough,
Roarke.”

He glanced
around as the screen went dark, smiled at her. “Business is war, Lieutenant.”

“The way you
play it, killer. If I were Teasdale, I'd be trembling in my gravity boots right
now.”

“That's the
idea.” He set the weights down to take off the headset and put it aside. She watched
him switch to the resistance center, set a program, and start on leg presses.
Absently, she picked up a weight, worked on her triceps, and kept watching him.

The black
sweatband gave him a warrior look, she thought. And the dark, sleeveless
T-shirt and shorts showed off very attractive muscles and skin gleaming with
honest sweat. She watched those muscles bunch, that sweat bead, and she wanted
him.

“You're
looking pleased with yourself, Lieutenant.”

“Actually, I'm
pleased with you.” She angled her head, let her gaze skim over him. “That's
quite a body you've got there, Roarke.”

His brow
winged up as she strolled over, reached down to test his biceps. “Tough guy.”

He grinned up
at her. She was in a mood, he could see. He just wasn't sure what mood it was.
“Want to see how tough?”

“Think I'm
afraid of you?” With her eyes still on his, she stripped off her weapon
harness, hung it over one of the bars. “Come on.” She walked over to a mat,
curled her fingers in challenge. “See if you can take me down.”

Still prone,
he studied her. There was something in her eyes other than challenge, he noted.
If he wasn't mistaken, it was lust. “Eve, I'm covered with sweat.”

She sneered.
“Coward.”

He winced.
“Let me grab a shower, then -- “

“Chicken. You
know, some men are still stuck in the mindset that a woman can't go toe to toe
on a physical level. Since I know you're above that, I can only assume you're
afraid I'll whip your ass.”

That did it.
“End program.” Slowly he sat up and reached toward a stack of towels. He mopped
his face. “Wanna fight? I'll give you time to warm up.”

Her blood was
already pumping. “I'm warm enough. Standard hand to hand.”

“No punching,”
he said as he stepped onto the mat. At her derisive snort, he narrowed his
eyes. “I'm not hitting you.”

“Right. Like
you could get past my -- “

He came in
fast, caught her off balance, and sent her skidding on her butt. “Foul,” she
muttered and swung up to the balls of her feet.

“Oh, now
there're rules. Just like a cop.”

They crouched,
circled each other. He feinted, she stepped in. For ten interesting seconds,
they grappled, her hands sliding off his slick skin. His quick leg hook would
have worked if she hadn't anticipated and gone in low. Using leverage and a
quick twist of her body, she flipped him over.

“Now we're
even.” She crouched again as he got to his feet, shook back his hair.

“Okay,
Lieutenant, I'm going to stop holding back.”

“Holding back,
my butt. You were -- “

He almost
caught her again, certainly would have taken her down if she hadn't realized
with seconds to spare that his strategy was to distract her with insults. She
evaded and turned into his move. Then, when their faces were close, their
bodies straining, she pulled out her best weapon.

She slid a
hand between his legs, cupped gentle fingers over his balls. He blinked in
surprise, in delight. “Well, then,” he murmured and lowered his lips to within
an inch of hers before she switched her grip.

He didn't even
have time to curse as he went sailing. He landed with a thud, and she was on
him, a knee pressed to his crotch, his shoulders pinned by her hands.

“You're down,
pal. And out.”

“Talk about
fouls.”

“Don't be a
sore loser.”

“It's hard to
argue with a woman when she's got her knee on my ego.”

“Good. Now I'm
going to have my way with you.”

“Are you?”

“Damn right. I
won.” She cocked her head and reached down to strip off his shirt. “Cooperate
and I won't have to hurt you. Uh-uh.” When he reached for her, she gripped his
hands and pushed them back to the mat. “I'm in charge here. Don't make me get
out the cuffs.”

“Hmm. An
interesting threat. Why don't you -- “ His words trailed off as her mouth came
down on his, hard and hot. Instinctively, his hands flexed under hers, wanting
to touch, to take. But he understood she wanted something else, something more.
So he would let her find it.

“I'm going to
take you.” She bit down on his lip, sending an edge of lust razoring through
his gut. “Do whatever I want to you.”

His mind was
already spinning, his breath clogging. “Be gentle with me,” he managed, and
felt warmth twine with the heat when she laughed.

“Dream on.”

She was rough
-- quick, demanding hands, impatient, restless lips. He could all but feel the
wildness of her need vibrate from her, shimmer into him with some reckless
energy that seemed to feed on itself. If she wanted control, he would give it
to her. Or so he thought. But somewhere during her onslaught of his system, he
simply lost the choice.

She scraped
her teeth over him, down him, until the muscles he had toned trembled
helplessly. His vision wavered when she took him into her mouth, worked him
hard, fast, so that he had to fight every instinct or explode.

“Don't you
hold back on me.” She nipped his thigh, slid her way back up his torso while
her hand replaced her mouth. “I want to make you come.” She sucked his tongue
into her mouth, bit, released. “Now.”

She watched
his eyes go opaque seconds before she felt the orgasm rip through him. Her
laugh was shaky with power as she assaulted his ear. “I won again.”

“Jesus. Christ
Jesus.” He managed, barely, to wind his arms around her. He was weak as a baby,
and tangled with embarrassment at his complete loss of control was a giddy
delight. “I don't know whether to apologize or thank you.”

“Save it. I
haven't finished with you yet.”

He nearly
chuckled, but she was nibbling her way around his jaw and sending fresh signals
to his battered system. “Darling, you'll have to give me a minute.”

“I don't have
to do anything.” She was drunk on pleasure, energized by her own power. “You
just have to take it.”

Straddling
him, she pulled her shirt over her head. Watching him, she skimmed her hands up
her own torso, over her breasts and down again. Saliva pooled in his mouth.
Smiling, she took his hands and brought them to her. With a sigh, she let her
eyes close.

His touch was
familiar now, yet always fresh. Constantly arousing. His fingers played over
her, teasing her nipples until they were hot and on the point of pain, then
tugging until there was an answering clutch in her center.

Obliging them
both, she arched back as he reared up to cover her with his mouth. She cupped
his head, let herself become steeped in the sensations -- the scrape of teeth
on sensitized flesh that ran from tender to brutal, the flex and release of his
fingers on her hips, the slick slide of flesh against flesh and the hot, ripe
smell of sweat and sex. And when she urged his mouth back to hers, the
explosive taste of reckless lust.

He made a
sound caught between a groan and an oath when she pulled away. She rose
quickly, delighted to find herself shaky on her feet, her body heavy with need.
She didn't have to tell him it had never been -- she had never been like this
with anyone but him. He knew it already. Just as she had come to know that he
found more with her, somehow with her, than with anyone else.

She stood over
him, no longer trying to level her breathing, no longer shocked by the shudders
that coursed through her. She toed off her shoes, unhooked her trousers, let
them fall away.

Heat swamped
her as his eyes skimmed up, then down, then up again to her face. She'd never
thought much about her body. It was a cop's body, and had to be strong,
resilient, flexible. With Roarke she'd discovered how wonderful those aspects
could be for a woman. Trembling a little, she planted a knee on either side of
him, then leaned forward to lose herself in the giddy pleasure of mouth on
mouth.

“I'm still in
charge,” she whispered as she rose up.

With his eyes
burning into hers, he smiled. “Do your worst.”

She lowered
herself to him, took him into her slowly, torturously. And when he was deep,
when her body went rigid, bowed back, she let out a shuddering sob as the first
glorious orgasm rippled through her. Greedy, she lunged forward again, gripped
his hands with hers, and began to ride.

Explosions
burst in her head, in her blood. Behind her closed eyes, riotous colors danced,
and there was nothing inside her but Roarke and a desperate need for more of
him -- still more of him. Climax slammed into climax, slapping her up before
she was able to float down again. The grinding ache in her was met, then built
again until at last her body slid limply down to his. She buried her face
against his throat and waited for sanity to return.

“Eve?”

“Huh?”

“My turn.”

She blinked
groggily as he rolled her onto her back. It took her a second to realize he was
still hard inside her. “I thought you'd -- we'd -- “

“You had,” he
murmured. He watched fresh, stunning pleasure flicker over her face as he moved
inside her. “Now you just have to take it.”

She started to
laugh, but it ended on a moan. “We'll kill each other if we keep this up.”

“I'll risk it.
No, don't close your eyes. See me.” He watched those eyes glaze as he quickened
the pace, heard her strangled cry as he drove himself deeper, deeper inside
her.

Then they were
both bucking, plunging, her hands grappling for purchase, his hips thrusting
harder. Her eyes went blank and wild. He covered her mouth ruthlessly with his
and swallowed her scream.

-=O=-***-=O=-

They were
tangled together, like two boxers down for the count and gasping for air. He'd
slid slightly down her body, and found that though her breast was handy to his
lips, he didn't have the energy to take advantage of it.

“I can't feel
my toes,” she realized. “Or my fingers. I think I broke something.”

It occurred to
him that he was probably cutting off most of her air and her circulation. With
an effort, he reversed their positions. “Better?”

She took a
long, wheezing gulp of air. “I think.”

“Did I hurt
you?”

“Huh?”

He tipped her
head up and studied her foolish, blank-eyed grin. “Never mind. You finished
with me yet?”

“For the
moment.”

“Thank God.”
He dropped back down and concentrated on breathing.

“Jesus, we're
a mess.”

“Nothing like
sticky, sweaty sex to remind you you're human. Come on.”

“Come on
where?”

“Darling.” He
skimmed a kiss over her damp shoulder. “You need a shower.”

“I'm just
going to sleep here for the next couple of days.” She curled up, yawned. “You
go ahead.”

He shook his
head. Gathering his strength, he shoved her aside, got to his feet. After a
deep breath, he reached down and hauled her up over his shoulder. “Oh sure,
take advantage of a dead woman.”

“Dead weight,”
he muttered and crossed the gym to the changing area. He shifted her more
securely, then stepped onto the tile. With a wicked grin, he turned around so
that her face would encounter the full force of one of the crisscrossing
sprays. “Sixty-three degrees, maximum spray.”

“Sixty -- “ It
was all she had time for. The rest of her words were lost in screams and curses
that echoed off the shining tiles.

She wasn't
dead weight now, but a wriggling, wet, desperate woman. He clamped down hard,
roaring with laughter as she sputtered and swore at him.

“Ninety-two,”
she shouted. “Ninety fucking two degrees. Now.”

When the spray
pumped hot, she managed to catch her breath. “I'll kill you, Roarke. The minute
I thaw out.”

“It's good for
you.” He set her carefully on her feet and offered her the soap. “Clean up,
Lieutenant. I'm starving.”

So was she.
“I'll kill you later,” she decided. “After I eat.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

Within the
hour, she was showered, satisfied, dressed, and attacking a two-inch sirloin.
“You know, I'm only marrying you for sex and food.”

He sipped a
deep red wine and watched her plow through the meal. “Of course.”

She nipped
into a shoestring fry. “And because you have a beautiful face.”

Unruffled, he
only grinned. “That's what they all say.”

Those weren't
the reasons, but good sex, good food, and a beautiful face could certainly
mellow a mood. She smiled at him. “How's Mavis?”

He'd been
waiting for her to ask, but he had known she'd needed to get something out of
her system first. “She's fine. She and Leonardo are having a kind of reunion in
her suite tonight. You can talk to them in the morning.”

Eve looked
down at her plate as she cut into the steak again. “What do you think of him?”

“I think he's
desperately, almost pathetically in love with our Mavis. And since I have some
experience with that emotion, I have sympathy for his situation.”

“We can't
verify his movements on the night of the murder.” She picked up her wine. “He
had motive, he had means, and very likely opportunity. There's no physical
evidence linking him to the crime, but the crime took place in his apartment,
and the weapon was his.”

“So you see
him killing Pandora, then setting the scene so that Mavis takes the blame?”

“No.” She set
her wine down again. “It would just be easier if I could.” Eve tapped her
fingers on the table, then picked up her glass again. “Do you know Jerry
Fitzgerald?”

“Yes. We're
acquainted.” He waited a beat. “No, I've never slept with her.”

“I didn't
ask.”

“Just
simplifying.”

She shrugged
and took another sip. “My impressions are smart, ambitious, clever, and tough.”

“Your
impressions are usually accurate. I wouldn't argue with them.”

“I don't know
a lot about the modeling game, but I've been doing some research. At
Fitzgerald's level, it's pretty high stakes. Money, prestige, media. Having top
bill on a show that's being anticipated as much as Leonardo's is worth big
credits, full-blown coverage. She'll step right into Pandora's shoes on it
now.”

“If his
designs click, it could be worth a considerable amount to be the top endorser,”
Roarke agreed. “But it's still speculative.”

“She's
involved with Justin Young, and she admitted that Pandora was trying to lure
him back.”

Roarke
considered. “Difficult for me to imagine Jerry Fitzgerald going into a
murderous rage over a man.”

“She'd more
likely have one over a stylist,” Eve admitted, “but there's more.”

Briefly, she
told him of the connection between Boomer's data and death and the new blend
found in Pandora's system. “We can't find her cache. Someone else went after
it, and knew where to look.”

“Jerry's come
out publicly against illegals. Of course, that's publicly,” Roarke added. “And
you're dealing with profit here, not partying.”

“That's my
theory. A new blend like this, quickly addictive, potent, has the potential for
a great deal of profit. The fact that it's eventually lethal won't stop its
distribution or its use.”

She pushed her
half-eaten steak aside, a gesture that had Roarke frowning. When she didn't
eat, she was worried. “It seems to me like you have a lead you can get your
teeth into, Eve. A lead that steers far wide of Mavis.”

“Yeah.”
Restless, she rose. “A lead that doesn't point to anyone else. Fitzgerald and
Young alibi each other. The security discs confirm their whereabouts at the
time of death. Unless, of course, one or both of them got around security.
Redford doesn't have an alibi, or doesn't have one without big holes, but I
can't tie him. Yet.”

That she
wanted to seemed very clear to Roarke. “What were your impressions?”

“Callous,
ruthless, self-interested.”

“You didn't
like him.”

“No, I didn't.
He was slick, smug, confident he could handle some city cop without straining
his brain cells. And he volunteered information, just like Young and Fitzgerald
did. I don't trust volunteers.”

The way the
mind of a cop worked was a marvel, he mused. “You'd trust him more if you'd had
to pry information out of him.”

“Sure.” It was
one of the basic rules, for her. “He was anxious to feed me Pandora's drug use.
So was Fitzgerald. And all three of them were almost happy to tell me they
didn't like her.”

“I don't
suppose you'd consider they were simply being honest.”

“When people
are that open, especially to a cop, there's usually another layer underneath.
I'm going to do some more digging on them.” She circled back, sat again. “Then
there's the Illegals cop I'm butting heads with.”

“Casto.”

“Yeah. He
wants the cases, took it well enough when he lost the stab, but it's not going
to be share and share alike with him. He wants a captaincy.”

“And you don't?”

Her gaze
shifted coolly to his. “When I've earned it.”

“And, of
course, you'll be sharing and sharing alike cheerfully with Casto in the
meantime.”

Her lips
curved. “Shut up, Roarke. The point is, I have to link Boomer's death with
Pandora's solidly. I have to find the person or persons who connect them, who
knew them both. Until I do, Mavis is facing a murder trial.”

“As I see it,
you have two avenues to explore.”

“Which are?”

“The glittery
road to haute couture and the gritty road to the streets.” He took out a
cigarette, lighted it. “Where did you say Pandora had been before she got back
on planet?”

“Starlight
Station.”

“I have some
interests there.”

“What a
surprise,” she said dryly.

“I'll ask a
few questions. The people in the circle Pandora exploited don't respond
terribly well to badges.”

“If I don't
get the right answers, I may have to go there myself.”

Something in
her tone alerted him. “Problem?”

“No, no
problem.”

“Eve.”

She pushed
away from the table again. “I've never been off planet.”

Bemused, he
stared. “Never? As in never?”

“Not everybody
just goes popping off into orbit whenever they get an itch. There's plenty to
keep most of us busy right here.”

“There's
nothing to be afraid of,” he said, reading her perfectly. “Space travel is
safer than driving in the city.”

“Bullshit,”
she said under her breath. “I didn't say I was afraid. If I have to do it, I'll
do it. I'd just rather not, that's all. The closer I'm able to keep this to
home, the faster I'll have Mavis out of it.”

“Umm-hmm.”
Interesting, he thought, to discover his stalwart lieutenant had a phobia. “Why
don't we see what I can find out for you?”

“You're a
civilian.”

“Unofficially,
of course.”

She looked
back at him, saw amused understanding, and sighed. “Fine. I don't suppose
you've got an off planet flora expert you can lend me while you're at it.”

Roarke picked
up his wine again, smiled. “As a matter of fact...”

*** CHAPTER ELEVEN ***

The case was
going in too many directions at once, Eve decided. The best course was the most
familiar. She took to the streets. And she took to them alone.

She'd left
Peabody with a pile of data to check, buzzed Feeney for an update, but she
headed out solo.

She didn't
want to make small talk, didn't want anyone looking too closely. She'd had a
bad night and was well aware it showed.

The nightmare
had been one of the worst so far. It had squeezed her by the throat, battered
her awake in a sweaty, whimpering mess. Her only relief had been that dawn had
been breaking when it had reached its peak. And she'd been alone in bed with
Roarke already up and in the shower.

If he'd heard
her or seen her, she'd never have gotten past him. Perhaps it had been
misplaced pride, but she'd used every tactic at her disposal to avoid him, then
had left him a quick memo before slipping out of the house.

She'd avoided
Mavis and Leonardo as well, and had only run into Summerset long enough to have
been granted one of his freezing looks.

She'd turned
away from that and had walked out. There was a sick knowledge inside her that
she was turning away from a great deal more.

Work was the
answer, or so she hoped. Work she understood. She pulled up in front of the
Down and Dirty Club in the East End and got out of the car.

“Hey there,
white girl.”

“How's it
passing, Crack?”

“Oh, without
much hassle.” He grinned at her, a giant of a black man with a face seamed with
tattoos. His rocket launcher chest was partially covered with a feathered vest
that hung past his knees and added flair to the loincloth of neon pink he
sported. “Gonna be another hot one this day.”

“Got time to
go inside and cool me off with a drink?”

“Might be, for
you, sweet butt. You taking Crack's advice and turning in your badge to shake
your talent in the Down and Dirty?”

“Not in this
lifetime.”

He laughed,
patting his gleaming belly. “Don't know why it is I got a liking for you. You
come on in, wet your whistle, and tell Crack what's rocking down.”

She'd been in
worse clubs, and would be eternally grateful she'd been in better. The stale
smells from the night hung still: incense, bad perfumes, liquor, smoke from
dubious leaves, unwashed bodies, and casual sex.

It was too
early for even the most dedicated partier. Chairs were overturned onto tables,
and she could see where someone had made a careless pass with a mop over the
sticky floor. Substances she didn't care to identify had been left behind.

Still, the
bottles behind the main bar gleamed in the colored lights. On the stage to the
right, a dancer draped in pink net practiced a routine to the blare of
simulated brass.

A jerk of
Crack's huge head had the domestic droid and the dancer wandering off. “What's
your pleasure, white girl?”

“Coffee,
black.”

Crack lumbered
behind the bar, still grinning. “Gotcha. How 'bout a drop or two of my special
reserve in that coffee?”

Eve lifted a
shoulder. When in Rome. “Sure.”

She watched
him program the coffee, then uncode a cabinet where he took out a bottle fit
for a Genie. And, leaning on the cloudy bar, smelling the smells, she relaxed a
little. She knew why she had a liking for Crack, a nighthawk she barely knew
but understood. He was part of a world she'd wandered in most of her life.

“Now, whatcha
doing in this nasty place, honey pot? Being a cop?”

“Afraid so.”
She sampled the coffee, sucked in her breath. “Jesus, some reserve.”

“Only for my
favorite people. It skims under the legal limit.” He winked. “Just. What you
want Crack to do for you?”

“Did you know
Boomer? Carter Johannsen. Small-time player. Data hound.”

“I know
Boomer. He's meat now.”

“Yeah, that's
right. Somebody slaughtered him. You ever do business with him, Crack?”

“He come in
now and then.” Crack preferred his reserve straight up. He sipped, then smacked
his tattooed lips in appreciation. “Sometimes he flush, sometimes not. He liked
to watch the show and talk the shit. Not much harm in old Boomer. Heard he got
his face erased.”

“That's right.
Who'd want to do that?”.

“He pissed somebody
off bad, I'd say. Boomer, he had big ears. If he popped a few, he had a big
mouth, too.”

“When did you
see him last?”

“Hell, now,
hard to remember. Few weeks, anyway. Seems to me he came through one night with
a pocket full of credits. Bought himself a bottle, a few tabs, and a privacy
room. Lucille went with him. No, not Lucille, shit. Was Hetta. All you white
girls look alike,” he said with a wink.

“Did he tell
anyone how he came to have full pockets?”

“Mighta told
Hetta, he was blissed out enough. Seems she picked up some more tabs for him.
He wanted to stay happy. She said something about how old Boomer was going to
be an entrepreneur or some horseshit like. We had ourselves a laugh over it,
then he come out and got up onstage naked. We had a bigger laugh. Dude had the
most pitiful cock you ever seen.”

“So he was
celebrating a deal.”

“That'd be my
take. We got busy. I had to crack a few heads, toss out some bodies. I remember
how I was out on the street, and he come rushing out. I grabbed hold, just
fooling. He didn't look happy no more, he looked piss-your-pants scared.”

“He say
anything?”

“Just shook
himself loose and took off running. Last time I saw him, as I recollect.”

“Who spooked
him? Who'd he talk to?”

“Can't tell
you that, sweet face.”

“Did you see
any of these people here that night?” Eve took photos out of her bag, spread
them out. Pandora, Jerry, Justin, Redford, and because it was necessary, Mavis
and Leonardo.

“Hey, I know
these two. Fancy-face models.” His wide fingers traced lovingly over Pandora
and Jerry. “The redhead, she come in now and then, trolling for partners,
looking to score. Could be she was here that night, but can't say for certain
sure. These others aren't on our guest list, so to speak. Least I can't make
'em.”

“Did you ever
see the redhead with Boomer?”

“He wasn't her
pick. She liked them big, stupid, and young. Boomer was just stupid.”

“What do you
hear about a new blend on the streets, Crack?”

His big face
went blank, closed off. “Don't hear nothing.”

Friendly only
went so far, she knew. Silently, Eve took out credits, laid them on the bar.
“Hearing improved?”

He studied the
credits, then looked back at her face. Recognizing the tactic as negotiations,
she added to them. The credits slid across the bar and disappeared.

“Some
rumblings recent, maybe, about some new shit. High powered, good long buzz,
tough on the credit balance. Heard it called Immortality. None's come passing
this way, not yet. Most people 'round here can't afford designer. They'll have
to wait for the knockoff, and that takes a few months more.”

“Did Boomer
talk about it?”

“Is that what
he was into?” Speculation shifted into Crack's eyes. “He never flapped to me
about it. Like I said, I heard some rumblings pass through. It's getting good
advance hype, chemi-heads are jazzed over it, but I ain't heard anybody had a
taste. It's good business,” he said with a smile. “You got a product, a new
one, you get the clientele wired up, hungry. Then when it hits, they'll pay.
They'll pay big.”

“Yeah, good
business,” She leaned forward. “Don't try a sample, Crack. It's fatal.” When he
started to blow that off, she put a hand on his beefy arm. “I mean literally.
It's poison, slow-acting poison. If there's anyone you care about who uses, you
warn them off this shit, or you won't have them very long.”

He studied her
face. “No jive here, white girl? This ain't cop talk?”

“No jive, no
cop talk. A regular user's got about five years before it overloads the nervous
system and takes him out. That's straight, Crack. And whoever's manufacturing
it knows it.”

“Hell of a way
to make a profit.”

“Isn't it
just. Now, where can I find Hetta?”

Crack blew out
a breath, shook his head. “Nobody gonna believe it if I tell 'em, anyhow. Not
the ones already hungry.” He looked back at Eve, focused. “Hetta? Shit, I don't
know. Ain't seen her in weeks. These girls come and go, work one joint, go on
to the next.”

“Last name?”

“Moppett.
Hetta Moppett, rented a room over on Ninth last I heard, around a hundred and
twentieth. Anytime you want to take up where she left off, sugarpuss, just let
me know.”

Hetta Moppett
hadn't paid her rent in three weeks, nor had she shown her skinny little ass.
This, according to the building super, who also informed Eve that Ms. Moppett
had forty-eight hours to come up with back rent or her property was forfeit.

Eve listened
to his angry yammering as she hoofed it up the stairs in the miserable
three-floor walk-up. She had his master code in hand, and was certain he'd
already used it as she unlocked Hetta's door.

It was a
single room, narrow bed, dingy window, with a few attempts at homey with the
frilly pink curtain and cheap shiny pink pillows. Eve did a quick toss, turned
up an address log, a credit book with over three thousand in deposit, some
framed photographs, and an expired driver's license that listed Hetta's last
address in Jersey.

The closet was
half full, and from the scarred suitcase on the top shelf, Eve judged it to be
all Hetta had. She ran the 'link, made a dupe of all the calls on disc, then
copied the license.

If Hetta had
gone on a trip, she'd taken no more with her than walking-around credits, the
clothes on her back, and her club companion's license.

Eve wasn't
betting on it.

She called the
morgue from her car 'link. “Run the Jane Does,” she ordered. “White, blond,
twenty-eight, about a hundred and thirty pounds, five foot four. Transmitting
copy of driver's license holo.”

She was barely
three blocks away, heading to Cop Central, when the answer came in.

“Lieutenant,
we got a possible match. Need dental, DNA, or prints to verify. Our possible
can't be identified by hologram.”

“Because?” Eve
asked, but she already knew.

“She doesn't
have enough face left.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

The prints
matched. The primary assigned to the Jane Doe handed Hetta over to Eve without
a backward glance. In her office, Eve stared down at the three files.

“Sloppy work,”
she muttered. “Moppett's prints were on file from her companion's license.
Carmichael could have ID'd her weeks ago.”

“I'd say
Carmichael wasn't much interested in a Jane Doe,” Peabody commented.

Eve reined in
the anger, flicked a glance up at Peabody. “Then Carmichael's in the wrong
business, isn't she? We've got links here, Peabody. From Hetta to Boomer,
Boomer to Pandora. What probability did you get when you ran them, asked if
they were killed by the same hand?”

“Ninety-six
point one.”

“Okay.” Eve's
stomach jittered with relief. “I'm taking all of this to the PA, doing a tap
dance. I may be able to talk them into dropping charges on Mavis. At least until
we gather more evidence. If they don't...” She looked Peabody dead in the eye.
“I'm leaking it to Nadine Furst for broadcast. That's a code violation, and I'm
telling you because as long as you're attached to me and this case, you can be
held equally responsible. You're risking a possible reprimand if you stay. I
can have you reassigned before this goes down.”

“I would
consider that action a reprimand, Lieutenant. An undeserved one.”

Eve said
nothing for a moment. “Thanks. DeeDee.”

Peabody
winced. “Don't call me DeeDee.”

“Fine. Take
everything we have over to EDD, hand deliver personally to Captain Feeney. I
don't want this data transmitted through channels, at least not until I talk to
the PA, then try a little solo investigation.”

She saw the
light go on in Peabody's eyes and smiled. She could remember what it was like
to be new and have your first shot. “Go over to the Down and Dirty Club where
Hetta worked, tell Crack, he's the big one. Believe me, you won't miss him.
Tell him you're mine, tell him Hetta's a corpse. See what you can get out of
him, out of anybody. Who she hung with, what she might have said about Boomer
that last night, who else she spent time with. You know the drill.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and
Peabody.” Eve slipped the files into her bag and rose. “Don't go in uniform,
you'll scare the natives.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

The PA smashed
Eve's hopes in ten minutes flat. She continued to argue for another twenty, but
it was all spinning wheels. Jonathan Heartly agreed that there was a likely
connection in the three homicides. He was an agreeable man. He admired her
investigative work, her deductive powers, and her organized presentation of
same. He admired any cop who did the job in an exemplary fashion and kept his
office's conviction rate high.

But he, and
the prosecutor's office, were not prepared to drop the charges against Mavis
Freestone. The physical evidence was too strong, and the case, at this point,
too solid to warrant a backpedal.

He would,
however, keep his door open. When and if Eve had another suspect, he would be
more than willing to listen to her case.

“Puss head,”
Eve muttered as she slammed into the Blue Squirrel. She spotted Nadine
immediately, already in a booth and grimacing over the menu.

“Why the hell
does it always have to be here, Dallas?” Nadine demanded the minute Eve dropped
down across from her.

“I'm a
creature of habit.” But the club wasn't the same, she noted, not without Mavis
standing onstage screeching out her incomprehensible lyrics in her latest,
eye-popping costume. “Coffee, black,” Eve ordered.

“I'll have the
same. How bad can it be?”

“Just wait for
it. Are you still smoking?”

Nadine glanced
around, uneasy. “This isn't a smoking booth.”

“Like they're
going to say something in a joint like this. Give me one, will you?”

“You don't
smoke.”

“I'm hoping to
develop bad habits. You want the two bucks?”

“No.” Keeping
an eye out, just in case anyone she knew was around, Nadine took out two
cigarettes. “You look like you could use something a little stronger.”

“This'll do.”
She leaned over so that Nadine could light it, took one puff. Hacked. “Jesus.
Let me try that again.” She drew in smoke, felt her head spin, her lungs
revolt. Annoyed, she crushed it out. “That's disgusting. Why do you do that?”

“It's a
developed taste.”

“So's eating
dog shit. And speaking of dog shit.” Eve slid her coffee from the serving slot
and took one brave sip. “So, how've you been?”

“Good. Better.
I've been doing things I didn't used to think I had time for. It's funny how a
near death experience makes you realize not making time is wasting time. I
heard Morse has been found competent to stand trial.”

“He's not
crazy. He's just a killer.”

“Just a
killer.” Nadine ran a finger along her throat where a knife had once drawn
blood. “You don't figure being the latter makes him the former.”

“No, some
people just like killing. Don't dwell on it, Nadine. It doesn't help.”

“I've been
trying not to. I took a few weeks, spent some time with my family. That helped.
It also reminded me that I love my job. And I'm good at it, even though I
folded -- “

“You didn't
fold,” Eve interrupted impatiently, “you were drugged, you had a knife to your
throat, and you were scared. Put it behind you.”

“Yeah. Right.
Well.” She blew out smoke. “Anything new on your friend? I wasn't really able
to tell you how sorry I am that she's in trouble.”

“She's going
to be all right.”

“I'd bank on
you seeing to that.”

“That's right,
Nadine, and you're going to help me. I've got some data for you from an
unidentified police source. No, no recorders, write it down,” Eve ordered as
Nadine reached in her bag.

“Whatever you
say.” Nadine dug deeper, found a pad and a pen. “Shoot.”

“We have three
separate homicides, and evidence points to one killer. The first, Hetta
Moppett, part-time dancer and licensed club companion, was beaten to death on
May 28, at approximately two A. M. The majority of blows were delivered to her
face and head in such a manner as to obliterate her features.”

“Ah,” Nadine
said and left it at that.

“Her body was
discovered, without identification, at six the next morning and tagged as a
Jane Doe. At the time of her murder, Mavis Freestone was standing on that stage
behind you, belting her guts out in front of about a hundred and fifty
witnesses.”

Nadine's brow
shot up, and she smiled. “Well, well. Keep going, Lieutenant.”

So she did.

-=O=-***-=O=-

It was the
best she could do for the moment. When the broadcast hit, it was doubtful
whether anyone in the department would have to guess who the unnamed source
was. But they wouldn't be able to prove it. And Eve would, for Mavis, if not
for herself, lie without a qualm if and when she was questioned.

She put in a
few more hours at Cop Central, had the miserable job of contacting Hetta's
brother, the only next of kin who could be tracked down, and informing him that
his sister was dead.

After that
cheerful interlude, she went back over every scrap of forensic evidence the
sweepers had sucked up at the Moppett murder scene.

There was no
doubt that she had been killed where she'd been found. The murder had been a
clean, probably a quick hit. A shattered elbow had been the only defensive
wound. No murder weapon had yet been found.

No murder
weapon on Boomer either, she mused. A few broken fingers, the added finesse of
the broken arm, the shattered kneecaps -- all prior to death. That, she had to
assume, was torture. Boomer had had more than information, he'd had a sample,
and the formula, and the killer had wanted both.

But Boomer had
hung tough there. The killer, for whatever reason, hadn't had the time or
wanted to take the risk to go to Boomer's flop and toss it.

Why had Boomer
been dumped in the river? To buy time, she speculated. But the ploy hadn't
worked, and the body had been found and ID'd quickly. She and Peabody had been
at the flop within hours of the discovery and had bagged and tagged the
evidence.

So, on to
Pandora. She knew too much, wanted too much, proved an unstable business
partner, threatened to talk to the wrong people. Any of the above, Eve mused
and rubbed her hands over her face.

There'd been
more rage in her death, more of a fight, more of a mess. Then again, she was
hopped on Immortality. She wasn't some foolish club dancer caught in an alley,
or a pitiful weasel who knew more than he should. Pandora was a powerful woman,
with a sharp mind and an ambitious bent. And, Eve remembered, well-developed
biceps.

Three bodies,
one killer, and one link between them. And the link was money.

She ran all
suspects through her computer, checking normal credit transactions. The only
one who was hurting was Leonardo. He was in debt up to his gold eyeballs, and
then some.

Then again,
greed had no credit balance. It was the property of the rich as well as the
poor. She dug a little deeper, and found that Redford had been busy juggling
funds. Withdrawals, deposits, more withdrawals. Electronic transfers had been
bouncing from coast to coast and to neighboring satellites.

Interesting,
she thought, and more interesting still when she hit on a transfer from his New
York account direct into that of Jerry Fitzgerald in the amount of a hundred
and twenty-five thousand.

“Three months
ago,” Eve murmured, rechecking the date. “That's a lot of money between
friends. Computer scan for any and all transfers from this account to any and
all accounts under the name of Jerry Fitzgerald or Justin Young in the past
twelve months.”

SCANNING. No
TRANSFERS RECORDED.

“Scan for
transfers from any and all accounts under the name of Redford to previously
requested accounts.”

SCANNING. No
TRANSFERS RECORDED.

“Okay, okay,
let's try this. Scan for transfers from any and all accounts under the name of
Redford to any and all accounts under the name Pandora.”

SCANNING.
TRANSFERS AS FOLLOWS:

TEN THOUSAND
FROM NEW YORK CENTRAL ACCOUNT TO NEW YORK CENTRAL ACCOUNT, PANDORA, 2/6/58.

SIX THOUSAND
FROM NEW LOS ANGELES ACCOUNT TO NEW LOS ANGELES SECURITY, PANDORA, 3/19/58.

TEN THOUSAND
FROM NEW YORK CENTRAL ACCOUNT TO NEW LOS ANGELES SECURITY, PANDORA, 5/4/58.

TWELVE
THOUSAND FROM STARLIGHT STATION BONDED TO STARLIGHT STATION BONDED, PANDORA,
6/12/58.

NO OTHER
TRANSFERS RECORDED.

“Well, that
oughta do it. Was she bleeding you, pal, or was she dealing for you?” Eve
wished fleetingly for Feeney, then went after the next layer herself.
“Computer, scan previous year, same data.”

While the
computer worked, she programmed coffee and speculated on scenarios.

Two hours
later, her eyes were sore, her neck screaming, but she had more than enough to
warrant another interview with Redford. She had to settle for his E-service,
but did have the pleasure of requesting his presence at Cop Central at ten the
following morning.

After leaving
memos for Peabody and Feeney, she decided to call it a day.

It didn't do
her mood much good to discover a memo from Roarke on her car 'link.

“You've been
out of touch, Lieutenant. I had something come up that requires my presence.
I'll be in Chicago by the time you get this, I imagine. I may have to stay over
tonight, unless I can clear this little mess up quickly. You can reach me at
the River Palace if you need to, otherwise, I'll see you tomorrow. Don't stay
up working half the night. I'll know.”

With an
annoyed flick, she switched off memo mode. “What the hell else am I supposed to
do?” she demanded. “I can't sleep when you're not there.”

She swung
through the gates, and saw with some hope that lights were blazing everywhere.
He'd canceled the meeting, fixed the problem, missed his transportation.
Whatever, she thought, he was home. She walked in the door with a welcoming
smile on her face and followed the sound of Mavis's laughter.

There were
four people having drinks and canapes in the parlor, but none of them was
Roarke. Quick observation powers, Lieutenant. Eve thought glumly, then took a
moment to scan the room before she was noticed.

Mavis was
still laughing, and dressed in what only she would consider at-home wear. Her
red skin suit was studded with silver stars and covered with a sheer emerald
sweep shirt left loose and open. She teetered on six-inch ice-pick heels as she
cuddled Leonardo. He had one arm wrapped around her, and the other hand was
fisted around a glass filled with something clear and fizzy.

A woman
munched on canapes, eating them with a speed and precision to rival a factory
droid stamping out computer chips. Her hair was in short corkscrew curls, with
each twist a different jewel tone. Her left earlobe was encased in silver hoops
that draped a twisted chain around and under her pointed chin to her other ear
where it was affixed with a single thumb-size stud. There was a tattoo of a
rosebud along the side of her thin, pointed nose. Over electric blue eyes, her
brows were sharp Vs of royal purple.

Which matched,
Eve saw in amazement, the micro-size suspendered playsuit that ended in cuffs
just south of her crotch. The suspenders were strategically placed over bare
breasts to cover the nipples. The breasts were the size of farm-grown cantaloupes.

Beside her, a
man with what appeared to be a map tattooed on his bald pate watched the action
through rose-tinted glasses and guzzled what Eve deduced to be some of Roarke's
vintage white. His party clothes consisted of baggy shorts that hung to bony
knees and a chest plate of patriotic red, white, and blue.

She
considered, seriously, sneaking upstairs unobserved and locking herself in her
office.

“Your guests,”
Summerset said in dismissive tones from behind her, “have been waiting for
you.”

“Look, pal,
they're not my -- “

“Dallas!”
Mavis squealed it, and leaped dangerously across the room in her fashionable
stilts. She caught Eve in a tipsy bear hug that nearly felled them both.
“You're so late. Roarke had to go somewhere, and he said it was all right if
Biff and Trina came by. They've been dying to meet you. Leonardo will fix you a
drink. Oh, Summerset, the goodies are just mag. You're so sweet.”

“I'm delighted
you're enjoying them.” He beamed at her. There was no other description for the
bright, moony look that shot out of his stony face before he faded back into
the hall.

“Come on,
Dallas, join the party.”

“Mavis, I've
really got a lot of work -- “ But Eve was already being dragged into the
parlor.

“Can I get you
a drink, Dallas?” Leonardo offered her a sad, puppy dog smile. Eve crumbled.

“Sure. Fine. A
glass of wine.”

“Absolutely
extraordinary wine. I'm Biff.” The man with the map on his head offered a slim,
delicate hand. “It's an honor to meet Mavis's champion, Lieutenant Dallas.
You're absolutely right, Leonardo,” he continued with his eyes intense behind
the rosy lenses. “The bronze silk is perfect for her.”

“Biff is a
fabric expert,” Mavis explained in a voice that continued to bubble and froth.
“He's worked with Leonardo for just ever. They've been plotting your
trousseau.”

“My -- “

“And this is
Trina. She's going to do your hair.”

“She is?” Eve
felt the blood drain out of her head and into her feet. “Oh well, I don't...”
Even women with little vanity can panic when faced with a stylist boasting
rainbow curls. “I don't really think -- “

“Gratis,”
Trina announced in a tone that was the vocal equivalent of rusted iron. “When
you clear Mavis, I'm giving you free hair consultations and styling for the
rest of your life.” She grabbed a handful of Eve's hair and squeezed. “Good
texture. Good weight. Bad cut.”

“Here's your
wine, Dallas.”

“Thanks.” She
needed it. “Listen, it's nice to meet you, but I've got some work I have to get
to.”

“Oh, but you
can't.” Mavis latched onto Eve's arm like a leech. “Everyone's here to start
doing you.”

Now the blood
flowed out of her toes. “Doing what to me?”

“We're all set
up upstairs, too. Leonardo's work space, Trina's, Biff's. All the other worker
bees will be buzzing around by tomorrow.”

“Bees?” Eve
managed. “Buzzing.”

“For the
show.” Cold sober, and less likely to assume welcome, Leonardo patted Mavis's
arm to try to restrain her enthusiasm. “Little dove, Dallas might not want the
house full of people at this point. I mean...” He dodged around the
investigation. “With the wedding so close.”

“But it's the
only way we can be together and finish the designs for the show.” The plea
naked in her eyes, Mavis turned back to Eve. “You don't mind, do you? We won't
be in the way. Leonardo just has so much to do. Some of the designs have to be
altered now because... because Jerry Fitzgerald is going to be the headliner.”

“Different
coloring,” Biff put in. “Different body type. From Pandora,” he finished,
saying the name they had been avoiding.

“Yeah.”
Mavis's smile went bright and fixed. “So it's a lot of extra work, and Roarke
said it was all right. The house is so big and everything. You won't even know
they're all here.”

People, Eve
thought, scurrying in and out. Security nightmares. “Don't worry about it,” she
said. She would.

“I told you it
would be all right,” Mavis said, planting a kiss on Leonardo's chin. “And I
promised Roarke I wouldn't let you bury yourself tonight, Dallas. You're going
to sit back and be pampered. We're getting pizza.”

“Oh goodie.
Mavis -- “

“Everything's
working out,” Mavis went on, almost desperately, her fingers tightening on
Eve's arm. “On Channel 75 they were talking about this new lead, and these
other murders, a drug connection. I didn't even know the other people who got
whacked. I didn't even know them, Dallas, so it's going to come out that it was
somebody else. And it's all going to be over.”

“It's going to
take a little time yet, Mavis.” Eve stopped, felt her heart drop at the
flickers of panic in Mavis's eyes, worked up a smile. “Yeah, it's all going to
be over. Pizza, huh? I could use some.”

“Great. Mag.
I'm going to find Summerset and tell him we're ready for it. Take Dallas up and
show her, okay?” She darted out.

“It really
lifted her,” Leonardo said quietly. “That news report. She needed a lift. The
Blue Squirrel let her go.”

“Let her go?”

“Bastards,”
Trina muttered around a canape.

“Management
decided it wasn't in their best interest to have an accused murderer
headlining. It shook her bad. I had the idea to take her mind off it this way.
I'm sorry, I should have cleared it with you first.”

“No, it's
fine.” Eve took another sip of wine and braced herself. “Let's go do me then.”

*** CHAPTER TWELVE ***

It wasn't so
bad, Eve decided. Not when compared to the riots of the Urban Wars, the torture
chambers of the Spanish Inquisition, a test ride on the XR-85 moon jet. And she
was a cop, a ten-year vet, used to facing danger.

She was
certain her eyes wheeled like a panicked horse's when Trina tested her cropping
sheers.

“Hey, maybe we
could just -- “

“Leave it to
the experts,” Trina said. Eve nearly whimpered with relief when she set the
shears down again. “Let's see about this.”

She
approached, unarmed, but Eve watched warily.

“I've got a
hair consult program.” Leonardo looked up from the long table, covered with
fabrics where he and Biff muttered together. “Full morphing capabilities.”

“I don't need
a stinking program.” To prove it, Trina caught Eve's face in her firm, wide
hands. Eyes narrowed, she began to move up then around Eve's head, over the
jaw, up the cheekbones. “Decent bone structure,” she approved. “Who do you
use?”

“For what?”

“Face
sculpting.”

“God.”

Trina paused,
snickered, then let out an ear-blasting laugh, the tone of a rusted tuba. “I
like your cop, Mavis.”

“She's the
best,” Mavis said drunkenly. She perched on a nearby stool, studying herself in
the triple mirrors. “Maybe you could do me, too, Trina. The lawyers suggested I
go for a more sedate look. You know, brunette or something.”

“Fuck that.”
Trina pressed her thumbs under Eve's jaw to lift it. “I've got some new shit
that'll blast any judge out of his robe, cutie. Bordello pink with silver
tipping. Just on the market.”

“Oh yeah.”
Mavis flipped her sapphire locks back and considered.

“What I could
do for you with a little highlighting.”

Eve's blood
ran cold. “Just the cut, right? We're just snipping a little.”

“Yeah, yeah.”
Trina pushed Eve's head onto her chest. “This color a gift from God, too?” She
chuckled to herself, yanked Eve's head back, and dragged all the hair away from
her face. “The eyes are good. The brows could use a little work, but we can fix
that.”

“Give me some
more wine, Mavis.” Eve shut the eyes that were good, and told herself whatever
happened, it would grow back.

“Okay, wet
down.” Trina whirled the chair and its reluctant occupant to a porta-sink,
tipped it back until Eve's neck was braced in the padded slot. “Close your eyes
and enjoy, honey. I give the best shampoo and head massage in the business.”

There was
something to be said for that. The wine or Trina's clever fingers mellowed
Eve's mood toward some twilight world of relaxation. Dimly she heard Leonardo
and Biff arguing over their preferences of crimson satin or scarlet silk for
evening pajamas. The music Leonardo had programmed was something classical with
sobbing piano arpeggios, and the scent of crushed flowers filled the air.

Why had Paul
Redford told her about the Chinese box and the illegals? If he'd gone back for
them himself, had them in his possession, why would he want their existence
known?

Double bluff?
A ploy? Maybe there had never been a box to begin with. Or he knew it was gone
already so...

Eve didn't
stir until something cold and sticky was slapped on her face. Then she yelped.

“What the hell
-- “

“A Saturnia
facial.” Trina glopped on more dun-colored goo. “Clear out your pores like a
vacuum. It's a crime to neglect your skin. Mavis, get out the Sheena, will
you?”

“What's the
Sheena -- never mind.” With one final shudder, Eve closed her eyes and
surrendered. “I don't want to know.”

“Might as well
have the full treatment.” Trina slicked more mud under Eve's jaw, quick fingers
working up. “You're tight, honey. Want me to plug in a nice VR program for
you?”

“No, no. This
is about as fanciful as I can handle, thanks.”

“Okay. Want to
tell me about your man?” Briskly, Trina tugged open the robe Eve had been
ordered to wear and clamped her mud coated hands on Eve's breasts. When Eve's
eyes popped open, fired, she laughed. “Don't you worry, I'm not into females.
Your man's going to love your tits when I'm done with them.”

“He likes them
just fine now.”

“Yeah, but
Saturnia's breast smoother is top of the line. They'll feel like rose petals.
Take my word. Is he a nibbler or a sucker?”

Eve just
closed her eyes again. “I'm not even here.”

“There you go.”

She heard
water run, then Trina was back and rubbing something into her hair that smelled
appealingly of vanilla.

People paid
for this, Eve reminded herself. Huge amounts that put gaping holes in their
credit accounts.

People were
obviously insane. She kept her eyes stubbornly closed as something warm and wet
was laid over her mud-covered breasts, her face. Conversations went on
cheerfully around her. Mavis and Trina discussed various beauty aids, Leonardo
and Biff consulted over line and color.

Very insane,
Eve thought, then let out a groan as her feet were massaged. They were dipped
in something hot and oddly pleasant. She heard the crackle of something, felt
her feet being lifted, covered. Then her hands received the same treatment.

She tolerated
it, tolerated even the quick buzz of something around her eyebrows. And felt
heroic when she heard Mavis laugh easily and flirt with Leonardo.

She had to
keep Mavis's spirits up, she thought. It was as vital as every step in the
investigation. It wasn't enough to represent the dead.

She squeezed
her eyes tighter when she heard the snip of Trina's shears, felt the light
tugs, the comb through. Hair was just hair, she told herself. Appearances
didn't matter.

Oh Jesus,
don't let her scalp me.

She forced her
mind to focus on work, ran through questions she would ask Redford in the
morning, considered his possible answers. It was likely she would be called to
the commander's office about the news leak. She would deal with that.

She needed a
conference with both Feeney and Peabody. It was time to see if any of the data
the three of them had dug up would dovetail. She'd go back to the club, have
Crack turn her on to some of the regulars. Someone might have seen whoever had
spooked Boomer that night. And if that same person had talked to Hetta --

She jerked
when Trina adjusted the chair to recline and began to scrub off the mud.
“She'll be ready for you in five,” Trina told an impatient Leonardo. “I don't
rush my genius.” She grinned down at Eve. “You've got decent skin. I'm going to
leave some samples with you. Use them, you'll keep it decent.”

Mavis peered
down and Eve began to feel like a patient on an operating table. “You did a
wonderful job on the eyebrows, Trina. They look so natural. All she needs to do
is dye her lashes. They don't even need a lengthener. And don't you think that
dimple in her chin is mag?”

“Mavis,” Eve
said wearily. “I don't want to have to hit you.”

Mavis only
grinned. “Pizza's here. Have a bite.” She stuffed some in Eve's mouth. “Wait
till you see your skin, Dallas. It's gorgeous.”

Eve only
grunted. The hot cheese had seared the roof of her mouth, but it also stirred
juices. She risked choking and took the rest of the slice while Trina bound up
her hair in a silver turban.

“It's
thermal,” Trina told her as she shot the chair back up. “I've got a root and
shaft penetrator on it”

Eve eyed the
reflection. Maybe her skin did look dewy, and at a wary stroke of her fingers,
it certainly felt smooth. But she couldn't see even a single strand of hair. “I've
got hair under there, right? My hair?”

“Sure you do.
Okay, Leonardo. She's yours for twenty minutes.”

“At last.” He
beamed. “Take off the robe.”

“Oh, look -- “

“Dallas, we're
all professionals. You have to try on the foundation for the wedding dress. It
will certainly need a few adjustments.”

She'd already
been felt up by a stylist, Eve decided. Why not stand naked in a roomful of
people? She shrugged out of the robe.

Leonardo came
at her with something white and sleek. Before she could do much more than
squeak, he had it around her torso and snugged at her back. His big hands
reached under the material, fussily adjusted her breasts. Bending down, he drew
a swatch of material between her legs, secured it, stepped back.

“Ah.”

“Holy hell,
Dallas. Roarke's tongue's going to land on his feet when he gets you down to
that”

“What the hell
is it?”

“A variation
on the old Merry Widow.” With quick nips and tucks, Leonardo perfected the fit.
“I call it a Curvaceous. Added a bit of lift under the breasts for you. Yours
are quite nice, but this line adds more contour. Just a touch of lace, a few
pearls. Nothing too ornate.” He turned her to face the mirror.

She looked
sexy, curvy. Ripe, Eve realized with some amazement. The material had a faint
gleam to it, as though it was damp. It nipped at her waist, molded her hips,
and, she had to admit, lifted her bustline to new, fascinating heights.

“Well... I
guess... for, you know, wedding nights.”

“For any
nights,” Mavis said dreamily. “Oh, Leonardo. Are you going to make me one?”

“I already
have, in Rascal Red satin. Now, Dallas, does it pinch anywhere? Rub?”

“No.” She
couldn't get over it. It should have been torturous, but it was as comfortable
as a sprint suit. Experimentally she bent, twisted. “It's just sort of there.”

“Excellent.
Biff found the material at a little cottage shop on Richer Five. Now the dress.
It's only basted, so we take care. Lift your arms, please.”

He slipped it
over her, let it float down. The material was stunning. Eve could see that,
even when it was streaked with tailor's marks. It seemed perfect to her, the
sleek column, the snug sleeves, the simple line, but Leonardo creased his brow
and tugged at the material, folded, bunched.

“The neckline
works, yes. Where is the necklace?”

“Huh?”

“The copper
and stone necklace. Didn't I tell you to ask for it?”

“I can't just
tell Roarke I want a necklace.”

Leonardo
sighed, turned Eve around, and exchanged a look with Mavis. He nodded, then
tested the line at Eve's hips.

“You've lost
weight,” he accused.

“No, I
haven't.”

“Yes, at least
two pounds.” He clucked his tongue. “I won't take it in yet. See that you put
them back on.”

Biff marched
over and held a bolt of material next to her face. With a nod, he marched away,
muttering into his notebook.

“Biff, would you
show her the other designs while I note the adjustments to the gown?”

With a
flourish, Biff switched on a wall monitor. “As you can see, Leonardo has taken
both your lifestyle and your body line into consideration with these designs.
This simple day suit is perfect for a corporate lunch, a press conference,
unrestricted, yet tres, tres chic. The material we're using is a blended linen
with just a whisper of silk. The color is citrine with trim of garnet.”

“Uh-huh.” It
looked like a nice, simple suit to Eve, but it was a jolt to see the
computer-generated image of herself modeling it. “Biff?”

“Yes,
Lieutenant?”

“Why do you
have a map tattooed on your head?”

He smiled. “I
have a very poor sense of direction. Now this next design continues the theme.”

She viewed a
dozen. They blurred together in her mind. Rayspan in citrus lemon, Breton lace
with velvet, classic black silk. Every time Mavis oohed or aahed, Eve ordered
recklessly. What was being in debt for the rest of her life compared to her
closest friend's peace of mind?

“That'll keep
you two busy awhile.” The minute Leonardo slipped the dress back off, Trina
bundled Eve into the robe. “Let's take a look at the crowning glory.” After
unwinding the turban, she pulled a wide forked comb out of her twirling curls
and began to pick, smooth, and fluff.

Eve's initial
relief that she had hair to be fussed with faded quickly as she stared directly
at a snaking pink spring. “Who does your hair, Trina?”

“Nobody
touches me but me.” She winked. “And God. Take a look.”

Braced for the
worst, Eve turned. The woman in the mirror was definitely Eve Dallas. At first
she thought it had all been some elaborate joke, and nothing had been done at
all. Then she looked closer, stepped closer. Gone were the wild tufts and stray
spikes. Her hair was still casually cropped, unstructured, but it seemed to
have a shape after all. And certainly it hadn't had that pretty shine before.
It followed the lines of her face nicely, the fringe of bangs, the curve at the
cheeks. And when she shook her head it fell back into place obediently.

Eyes narrowed,
she raked fingers through it and watched it tumble back. “Did you put blond in
it?”

“Nope. Natural
highlights. Brought them out with Sheena, that's all. You got deer hair.”

“What?”

“Ever seen a
deer hide? It's got all those colors from russet, brown, gold, even touches of
black. That's what you've got there. God's been good to you. Trouble is,
whoever's been doing you must have been using hedge trimmers and no highlight
puncher, either.”

“It looks
good.”

“Damn right it
does. I'm a genius.”

“You look
beautiful.” Suddenly, Mavis put her face in her hands and wept. “You're getting
married.”

“Oh, Christ,
don't do that, Mavis. Come on.” Feeling helpless, Eve gave her encouraging pats
on the back.

“I'm so drunk,
and I'm so happy. And I'm so scared. Dallas, I lost my job.”

“I know, baby.
I'm sorry. You'll get another one. A better one.”

“I don't care.
I don't care. I'm not going to care. We're going to have the most mag wedding,
aren't we, Dallas?”

“You bet.”

“Leonardo's
making me the most rocking dress. Let's show her, Leonardo.”

“Tomorrow.” He
came over, scooped her into his arms. “Dallas is tired.”

“Oh, yeah. She
needs to rest.” Mavis let her head loll on his shoulder. “She works too hard.
She's worried about me. I don't want her to worry, Leonardo. Everything's going
to be fine, isn't it? It's going to be fine.”

“Just fine.” Leonardo
sent Eve one last uneasy look before he carried Mavis off.

Eve watched
them go, sighed. “Fuck.”

“Like that
sweet little thing could bash anybody's face in.” Trina scowled as she gathered
up her tools. “I hope Pandora's burning in hell.”

“You knew
her?”

“Everybody in
the business knew her. Loathed her ever fucking guts. Right, Biff?”

“She was born
a bitch, died a bitch.”

“Did she just
use, or did she deal?”

Biff slanted a
look at Trina, then shrugged. “She never dealt in the open, but you'd hear talk
now and again that she was always well supplied. The buzz was she was an
Erotica junkie. She liked sex, and she might deal to her partner of choice.”

“Were you ever
her partner of choice?”

He smiled.
“Romantically, I prefer men. They're less complicated.”

“How about
you?”

“I prefer men,
too -- same reason. So did she.” Trina picked up her kit. “Last runway gig I
had, the gossip was she was mixing business and pleasure. Had some guy she was
bleeding. She was flashing a lot of new glitters. Pandora liked to decorate her
body with real rock, but she didn't like to pay for it. People figured she'd
made some deal with a source.”

“Got a name on
the source?”

“Nope, but she
was on her palm 'link between changes all day. That was about three months ago.
I don't know who she was talking to, but at least one of the calls was
intergalactic, because she got royally pissed at the delay.”

“Did she
always carry a palm 'link?”

“Everybody in
fashion and beauty does, honey. We're just like doctors.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

It was close
to midnight when Eve settled down at her desk. She couldn't face the bedroom,
preferred the suite she used for privacy and work. She programmed coffee, then
forgot to drink it. Without Feeney, she had no choice but to go a roundabout
route to try to trace a three-month-old intergalactic call from a palm 'link
she didn't have.

After an hour,
she gave up and crawled onto the sleep chair. She'd take a nap, she told
herself. Set her mental alarm for five A. M.

Illegals,
murder, and money, she thought. They went together. Pin down the source, she
thought groggily. Identify the unknown.

Who were you
hiding from, Boomer? How did you get your hands on a sample and the formula?
Who broke your bones to get them back?

The image of
his battered body flashed into her mind and was ruthlessly shut off. She didn't
need to drift into sleep with that loop playing.

It might have
been a better choice than the show she ended with.

-=O=-***-=O=-

The dirty red
light was flashing. Over and over through the window. SEX! LIVE! SEX! LIVE!

She was only
eight, but her mind was quick. She wondered if people would pay to see dead
sex. Lying on her bed, she watched the light blink. She knew what sex was. It
was ugly, it was painful, it was frightening. It was inescapable.

Maybe he wouldn't
come home tonight. She'd stopped praying that he would forget where he'd left
her or fall down dead in some handy ditch. He always came back.

But sometimes,
if she was very, very lucky, he would be too drunk, too buzzed to do more than
stumble to the bed and snore. Those nights, she would shiver with relief and
huddle in the corner to sleep.

She still
thought about escape. Of finding a way out of the locked door, or down the five
stories. If the night was very bad, she imagined just jumping from the window.
The flight down would be quick, and then it would be over.

He wouldn't be
able to hurt her then. But she was too much a coward to jump.

She was only a
child, after all, and tonight she was hungry. And she was cold because he had
broken the temperature control in one of his rages and it was stuck on full
air.

She padded
toward the corner of the room, the excuse for a kitchenette. Experienced, she
pounded the drawer first, to send any roaches scattering. She found a chocolate
roll inside. The last one. He would probably beat her for eating the last one.
Then again, he would beat her anyway, so she might as well enjoy it.

She bolted it
like an animal, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Hunger churned
still. A further search turned up a hunk of moldy cheese. She didn't want to
think what had been nibbling on it. Carefully, she took a knife, began to shear
off the nasty edges.

Then she heard
him at the door. In her panic, she dropped the knife. It clattered to the floor
as he came in.

“What are you
doing, little girl?”

“Nothing. I
woke up. I was just going to get a drink of water.”

“Woke up.” His
eyes were glazed, but not glazed enough, she saw without hope. “Missing your
daddy. Come give your daddy a kiss.”

She couldn't
breathe. Already she couldn't breathe and the place between her legs where he
would hurt her began to throb in painful fear. “I have a stomachache.”

“Oh? I'll kiss
it better.” He was grinning as he crossed to her. Then the grin faded. “You've
been eating without asking again, haven't you? Haven't you?”

“No, I -- “
But the lie, and the hope to evade both died as his hand swiped hard over her
face. Her lip split, her eyes watered, but she barely winced. “I was going to
fix some cheese. A snack for when you -- “

He hit her
again, hard enough to make stars explode inside her head. She went down this
time, and before she could scramble up, he was on her.

Screams, her
screams, because his fists were hard and merciless. Pain, blinding, numbing
pain that was nothing beside the fear. The fear because however horrible, this
would not be the worst he did to her.

“Daddy,
please. Please, please.”

“Have to
punish you. You never listen. Never fucking listen. Then I'll give you a treat.
A nice big treat, and you'll be a good girl.”

His breath was
hot on her face and somehow smelled like candy. His hands tore at her already
tattered clothes, poking, squeezing, invading. His breathing changed, a change
she knew and feared. It became shallow, greedy.

“No, no, it
hurts, it hurts!”

Her poor young
flesh resisted. She batted at him, screaming still, was driven beyond fear to
claw. His cry of rage bellowed out. He twisted her arm back. She heard the dry,
hideous sound of her own bone snapping.

“Lieutenant.
Lieutenant Dallas.”

The scream
ripped from her throat and she came to, swinging blindly. In wild panic she
scrambled up, her own legs tangling and taking her to the floor in a heap.

“Lieutenant.”

She reared
away from the hand that touched her shoulder, huddled back as sobs and screams
knotted in her throat.

“You were
dreaming.” Summerset spoke carefully, his face impassive. She might have seen
the realization in his eyes if her own hadn't been clouded with memory. “You
were dreaming,” he repeated, approaching her as he would a trapped wolf. “You
had a nightmare.”

“Stay away
from me. Go away. Stay away.”

“Lieutenant.
Do you know where you are?”

“I know where
I am.” She got the words out between quick gulps of air. She was freezing,
boiling, and couldn't stop the tremors. “Go away. Just go away.” She made it as
far as her knees, then covered her mouth and rocked. “Get the hell out of
here.”

“Let me help
you to the chair.” His hands were gentle, but firm enough to keep hold when she
tried to shove him away.

“I don't need
help.”

“I'm going to
help you to your chair.” As far as he was concerned, she was a child now, a
wounded one who needed care. As his Marlena had been. He tried not to think if
his child had begged as Eve had begged. After he put her in the chair, he went
to a chest, drew out a blanket. Her teeth were chattering and her eyes were
wide with shock.

“Be still.”
The order was brisk as she began to push up. “Stay where I've put you and be
quiet.”

He turned on
his heel, striding into the kitchen alcove and the AutoChef. There was sweat on
his brow and he dabbed at it with a handkerchief as he ordered a soother. His
hand was shaking. It didn't surprise him. Her screams had chilled him to the
bone and brought him to her suite at a dead run.

They'd been a
child's screams.

Steadying
himself, he carried the glass to her. “Drink it.”

“I don't want
-- “

“Drink it, or
I'll pour it down your throat, with pleasure.”

She considered
knocking it out of his hand, then embarrassed them both by curling into a ball
and whimpering. Giving up, Summerset set the drink aside, tucked the blanket
more securely around her, and went out with the object of contacting Roarke's
personal physician.

But it was
Roarke himself he met on the landing.

“Summerset,
don't you ever sleep?”

“It's
Lieutenant Dallas. She's -- “

Roarke dropped
his briefcase, grabbed Summerset by the lapels. “Has she been hurt? Where is
she?”

“A nightmare.
She was screaming.” Summerset lost his usual composure and dragged a hand over
his hair. “She won't cooperate. I was about to call your doctor. I left her in
her private suite.”

As Roarke
pushed him aside, Summerset grabbed his arm. “Roarke, you should have told me
what had been done to her.”

Roarke merely
shook his head and kept going. “I'll take care of her.”

He found her
curled up tight, trembling. Emotions warred through him, anger, relief, sorrow,
and guilt. He battled them back and lifted her gently. “It's all right now,
Eve.”

“Roarke.” She
shuddered once convulsively, then curved into him as he settled back in the
chair with her on his lap. “The dreams.”

“I know.” He
pressed a kiss to her damp temple. “I'm sorry.”

“They come all
the time now, all the time. Nothing stops them.”

“Eve, why
didn't you tell me?” He tipped her head back to look at her face. “You don't
have to go through this alone.”

“Nothing stops
them,” she repeated. “I couldn't not remember anymore. And now I remember all
of it.” She rubbed the heels of her hands over her face. “I killed him, Roarke.
I killed my father.”

*** CHAPTER THIRTEEN ***

He looked into
her eyes, felt the tremors that still shook her. “Darling, you had a
nightmare.”

“I had a
flashback.”

She had to be
calm, had to be to get it all out. To be calm and rational, she had to think
like a cop, not like a woman. Not like a terrorized child.

“It was so
clear, Roarke, that I can still feel it on me. Still feel him on me. The room
in Dallas where he'd lock me. He'd always lock me in wherever he took me. Once
I tried to get away, to run away, and he caught me. After that, he always got
rooms high up, and locked the door from the outside. I never got to go out. I
don't think anyone even knew I was there.” She tried to clear her raw throat.
“I need some water.”

“Here. Drink
this.” He picked up the glass Summerset had left beside the chair.

“No, it's a
tranq. I don't want a tranq.” She let air in and out of her lungs. “I don't
need one.”

“All right.
No, I'll get it.” He shifted her, rose, caught the doubt in her eyes. “Just
water, Eve. I promise.”

Accepting his
word, she took the glass he brought back and drank gratefully. When he sat on
the arm of the chair, she stared straight ahead and continued.

“I remember
the room. I've been having part of this dream for the past couple of weeks.
Details were beginning to stick. I even went to see Dr. Mira.” She glanced
over. “No, I didn't tell you. I couldn't.”

“All right.”
He tried to accept that. “But you're going to tell me now.”

“I have to
tell you now.” She took a breath, brought it all into her mind as she would any
crime scene. “I was awake in that room, hoping he'd be too drunk to touch me
when he came back. It was late.”

She didn't
have to close her eyes to see it: the filthy room, the blink of the red light
through the dirty windows.

“Cold,” she
murmured. “He'd broken the temperature control, and it was cold. I could see my
breath.” She shivered in reaction. “But I was hungry, too. I got something to
eat. He never kept much around. I was hungry all the time. I was cutting the
mold off some cheese when he came in.”

The door
opening, the fear, the clatter of the knife. She wanted to get up, pace off the
nerves, but wasn't sure her legs were ready to support her.

“I could see
right away that he wasn't drunk enough. I could see. I remember what he looked
like now. He had dark brown hair and a face gone soft from drinking. He might
have been handsome once, but that was gone. Broken capillaries in his face, in
his eyes. He had big hands. Maybe it was just because I was small, but they
seemed awfully big.”

Roarke lifted
his hands to her shoulders, began to massage the tension. “They can't hurt you
now. Can't touch you now.”

“No.” Except
in the dreams, she thought. There was pain in dreams. “He got mad because I'd
been eating. I wasn't supposed to take anything without asking.”

“Christ.” He
tucked the blanket more securely around her because she was still shivering.
And found he wanted to feed her, anything, everything, so she would never think
about hunger again.

“He started
hitting me, and hitting me.” She heard her voice hitch, made the effort to
level it. It's just a report now, she told herself. Nothing more. “Knocked me
down and hit me. My face, my body. I was crying and screaming, begging him to
stop. He tore my clothes and rammed his fingers in me. It hurt, horribly,
because he'd raped me the night before and I was still hurting from that. Then
he was raping me again. Panting in my face, telling me to be a good girl and
raping me. It felt like everything inside me was tearing. The pain was so bad I
couldn't take it anymore. I clawed at him. I must have drawn blood. That's when
he broke my arm.”

Roarke stood
abruptly, paced away, jabbed the mechanism to open the windows. He needed air.

“I don't know
if I blacked out, maybe for a minute, I think. But I couldn't get past the
pain. Sometimes you can.”

“Yes,” he said
dully. “I know.”

“But it was so
enormous. Black, greasy waves of pain. And he wouldn't stop. The knife was in
my hand. It was just there, in my hand. I stabbed him with it.” She let out a
shuddering breath as Roarke turned to her. “I stabbed him, and kept stabbing
him. Blood was everywhere. The raw, sweet smell of it. I crawled out from under
him. He might have been dead already, but I kept stabbing him. Roarke, I can
see myself, kneeling, the hilt in my hand, blood past my wrists, splattered on
my face. And the pain, the rage pounding at me. I just couldn't stop.”

Who would
have? he wondered. Who could have?

“Then I pulled
myself into the corner to get away from him, because when he got up, he'd kill
me. I passed out or just zoned, because I don't remember anything else until it
was daylight. And I hurt -- I hurt so bad, everywhere. I got sick. Really sick,
and when I was finished, I saw. I saw.”

He reached
down for her hand, and it was like ice, thin, brittle ice. “That's enough,
Eve.”

“No, let me
finish. I have to finish.” She pushed the words out as though she were shoving
rocks off her heart. “I saw. I knew I'd killed him, and they'd come for me, put
me in a cage. A dark cage. That's what he'd always told me they did if you
weren't good. I went in the bathroom and washed off all the blood. My arm -- my
arm was screaming, but I didn't want to go in a cage. I put on some clothes and
I put everything else that was mine in a bag. I kept imagining he was going to
get up and come for me, but he stayed dead. I left him there. I started
walking. It was early, early in the morning. Hardly anyone was out. I threw
away the bag, or I lost it. I can't remember. I walked a long way, then I went
into an alley and hid until night.”

She rubbed a
hand over her mouth. She could remember that, too, the dark, the stench, the
fear overriding even pain. “Then I walked more, and kept walking until I
couldn't walk anymore. I found another alley. I don't know how long I stayed
there, but that's where they found me. By then, I didn't remember anything --
what had happened, where I was. Who I was. I still don't remember my name. He
never called me by my name.”

“Your name's
Eve Dallas.” He cupped her face in his hands. “And that part of your life is
over. You survived it, you overcame it. Now you've remembered it, and it's
done.”

“Roarke.”
Looking at him, she knew she had never loved anyone more. Never would. “It's
not. I have to face what I've done. The reality of it, and the consequences. I
can't marry you now. Tomorrow I have to turn in my badge.”

“What insanity
is this?”

“I killed my
father, do you understand? There has to be an investigation. Even if I'm
cleared, it doesn't negate the fact that my application for the academy, my
records, are fraudulent. As long as the investigation is ongoing, I can't be a
cop, and I can't marry you.” Steadier, she rose. “I have to pack.”

“Try it.”

His voice was
low, dangerous, and it stopped her. “Roarke, I have to follow procedure.”

“No, you have
to be human.” He strode to the door and slammed it shut. “Do you think you're
walking out on me, on your life, because you defended yourself against a
monster?”

“I killed my
father.”

“You killed a
fucking monster. You were a child. Are you going to stand there, look me in the
face, and tell me that child was to blame?”

She opened her
mouth, closed it. “It's not a matter of how I see it, Roarke. The law -- “

“The law
should have protected you!” With visions dancing evilly in his head, he
snapped. He could all but hear the tight wire of control break. “Goddamn the
law. What good did it do either one of us when we needed it most? You want to
chuck your badge because the law's too fucking weak to care for its innocents,
for its children, be my guest. Throw your career away. But you're not getting
rid of me.”

He started to
grab her by the shoulders, then dropped his hands. “I can't touch you.” Shaken
by the violence that spewed up in him, he stepped back. “I'm afraid to put my
hands on you. I couldn't stand it if being with me reminded you of what he
did.”

“No.”
Appalled, it was she who reached out. “No. It doesn't. It couldn't. There's
nothing but you and me when you touch me. It's just that I have to handle this.”

“Alone?” It
was, he realized, the most bitter of words. “The way you had to handle the
nightmares alone? I can't go back and kill him for you, Eve. I'd give
everything I have and more if I could do that one thing. But I can't. I won't
let you deal with this without me. That's not an option for either of us. Sit
down.”

“Roarke.”

“Please, sit
down.” He took one cleansing breath. She wouldn't listen to anger, he decided.
Nor, from him, to reason. “Do you trust Dr. Mira?”

“Yes, I mean
-- “

“As far as you
trust anyone,” he finished. “That'll do.” He walked over to her desk.

“What are you
doing?”

“I'm going to
call her.”

“It's the
middle of the night.”

“I know what
time it is.” He engaged the 'link. “I'm willing to abide by her advice on this.
I'm asking you to do the same.”

She started to
argue but found no solid ground. Weary, she dropped her head into her hands.
“All right.”

She stayed
there, barely listening to Roarke's quiet voice, the murmured responses. When
he came back to her, he reached out a hand. She stared at it.

“She's on her
way. Will you come downstairs?”

“I'm not doing
this to hurt you or make you angry.”

“You've
accomplished both, but that's not the main issue here.” He took her hand and
drew her to her feet. “I won't let you go, Eve. If you didn't love me or want
me or need me, I would have to. But you do love me and want me. And though you
still have difficulty with the concept, you need me.”

/ won't use
you, she thought, but she said nothing as they went downstairs.

It didn't take
Mira long. In her usual manner, she arrived promptly and perfectly groomed. She
greeted Roarke serenely, took one look at Eve, and sat.

“I'd love a
brandy, if you wouldn't mind. I believe the lieutenant should join me.” As
Roarke saw to the drinks, she looked around the room. “What a perfectly lovely
home. It feels happy.” She smiled, cocked her head. “Why, Eve, you've changed
your hair. It's very flattering.”

Baffled,
Roarke stopped, stared. “What have you done to it?”

Eve lifted a
shoulder. “Nothing, really, just...”

“Men.” Mira
took her brandy, swirled. “Why do we bother? When my husband fails to notice a
change, he always says it's because he adores me for me, not for my hair. I
usually let him get away with it. Now then.” She sat back. “Can you tell me?”

“Yes.” Eve
repeated everything she'd told Roarke. But it was the cop's voice now, cool,
composed, detached.

“It's been a
difficult night for you.” Mira skimmed her gaze over Roarke. “For both of you.
It might be hard to believe that it will begin to be better now. Can you accept
that your mind was ready to deal with this?”

“I suppose.
The memories started coming more clearly, more often after that -- “ She closed
her eyes. “A few months ago I answered a domestic disturbance call. I was too
late. The father was on Zeus. He'd hacked the little girl to death before I got
in. I terminated him.”

“Yes, I
remember. The child, she might have been you. Instead, you survived.”

“My father
didn't.”

“And how does
that make you feel?”

“Glad. And
uneasy, knowing I have that much hate in me.”

“He beat you.
He raped you. He was your father and you should have been safe with him. You
weren't. How do you believe you should feel about that?”

“It was years
ago.”

“It was
yesterday,” Mira corrected. “It was an hour ago.”

“Yes.” Eve
looked down at her brandy and squeezed the tears back.

“Was it wrong
to defend yourself?”

“No. Not to
defend. But I killed him. Even when he was dead, I kept killing him. This --
blinding hate, uncontrollable rage. I was like an animal.”

“He had
treated you like an animal. Made you an animal. Yes,” she said at Eve's
shudder. “More than stealing your childhood, your innocence, he stripped you of
your humanity. There are technical terms for a personality capable of doing
what he did to you, but in simple English,” she said in her cool tones, “he was
a monster.”

Mira watched
Eve's eyes dart to Roarke, linger, drop away.

“He took your
freedom,” she continued, “and your choices, marked you, branded you, defiled
you. You weren't human to him, and if the situation hadn't changed, you might
never have been more than an animal if you had survived at all. And yet, after
you escaped, you made yourself. What are you now, Eve?”

“A cop.”

Mira smiled.
She'd expected exactly that answer. “And then?”

“A person.”

“A responsible
person?”

“Yeah.”

“Capable of
friendship, loyalty, compassion, humor. Love?”

Eve looked at
Roarke. “Yes, but -- “

“Was the child
capable?”

“No, she -- I
was too afraid to feel. All right, I've changed.” Eve pressed a hand to her
temple, surprised and relieved to find the headache drumming there was easing.
“I've made myself into something decent, but that doesn't override the fact
that I killed. There has to be an investigation.”

Mira arched a
brow. “Naturally, you can instigate one if finding your father's identity is
important to you. Is it?”

“No, I don't
give a damn about that. It's procedure -- “

“Excuse me.”
Mira held up a hand. “You want to instigate an investigation into the death of
this man by your hand when you were eight years old?”

“It's
procedure,” Eve said stubbornly. “And requires my automatic suspension until
the investigative team is satisfied. It's also best if my personal plans are
put on hold until the matter is resolved.”

Sensing
Roarke's fury, Mira flicked him a warning glance and watched him win the bitter
battle for control. “Resolved in what manner?” she asked reasonably. “I don't
want to presume to tell you your job, Lieutenant, but we're talking about a
matter that took place some twenty-two years ago.”

“It was
yesterday.” Eve found some hollow pleasure in tossing Mira's words back at her.
“It was an hour ago.”

“Emotionally,
yes,” Mira agreed, unruffled. “But in practical terms, and legal ones, more
than two decades. There will be no body or physical evidence to examine. There
are, of course, the records of your condition when you were found, the abuse,
the malnutrition and neglect, the trauma. Now, there is your memory. Do you
feel your story will change during interview?”

“No, of course
not, but... It's procedure.”

“You're a very
good cop, Eve,” Mira said gently. “If this matter came across your desk,
exactly as it is, what would be your professional and objective direction?
Before you answer, be careful, and be honest. There's no point in punishing
yourself, or that innocent, misused child. What would you do?”

“I'd...”
Beaten, she set down the snifter and pressed her hands to her eyes. “I'd close
it.”

“Then close
it.”

“It's not up
to me.”

“I'll be happy
to take this up with your commander, in private, give him the facts and my
personal recommendation. I think you know what his decision would be. We need
people like you to serve and protect, Eve. There's a man here who needs you to
trust him.”

“I do trust
him.” She braced herself to look over at Roarke. “I'm afraid of using him. It
doesn't matter what other people think about the money, about the power. I
don't want to ever give him reason to think I ever could or ever would use
him.”

“Does he think
it?”

She closed a
hand around the diamond hanging between her breasts. “He's too much in love
with me to think it now.”

“Well, I'd say
that's lovely. And before much longer, you might figure out the difference
between depending on someone you love and trust and exploiting their
strengths.” Mira rose. “I'd tell you to take a sedative and tomorrow off, but
you'll do neither.”

“No, I won't.
I'm sorry to have dragged you away from home in the middle of the night.”

“Cops and
doctors, we're used to it. You'll talk with me again?”

She wanted to
refuse, to deny -- as she had spent years refusing and denying. But that time,
Eve realized, was over. “Yes, all right.”

On impulse,
Mira laid a hand on Eve's cheek and kissed her. “You'll do, Eve.” Then she
turned to Roarke and extended her hand. “I'm glad you called me. I have a
personal interest in the lieutenant.”

“So do I.
Thank you.”

“I hope you'll
invite me to the wedding. I'll see myself out.”

Roarke walked
over, sat beside Eve. “Would it be better for you if I gave away my money, my
properties, tossed aside my companies, and started from scratch?”

Whatever she'd
been expecting, it hadn't been this. She gaped at him. “Would you?”

He leaned
forward, kissed her lightly. “No.”

The laugh that
bubbled out surprised her. “I feel like an idiot.”

“You should.”
He linked his fingers with hers. “Let me help take the pain away.”

“You've been
doing that since you walked in the door.” With a sigh, she rested her brow on
his. “Tolerate me, Roarke. I'm a good cop. I know what I'm doing when the badge
is on. It's when I take it off I'm not so sure of my moves.”

“I'm a tolerant
man. I can accept your dark spaces, Eve, just as you accept mine. Come on,
let's go to bed. You'll sleep.” He brought her to her feet again. “And if you
have nightmares, you won't hide them from me.”

“No, not
anymore. What is it?”

Eyes narrowed,
he combed his fingers through her hair. “You did change it. Subtly, but
charmingly. And there's something else...” He rubbed a thumb over her jawline.

Eve wiggled
her eyebrows, hoping he'd noticed their new improved shape, but he only continued
to stare at her. “What?”

“You're
beautiful. Really quite beautiful.”

“You're
tired.”

“No, I'm not.”
He leaned in, closed his mouth over hers softly in a long, lingering kiss. “At
all.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

Peabody was
staring, and Eve decided not to notice. She had coffee, and anticipating
Feeney's arrival had even come up with a basket of muffins. The shades were
open to her own spectacular view of New York with its spearing skyline behind
the lush green of the park.

She supposed
she couldn't blame Peabody for gaping.

“I really
appreciate you coming here instead of to Cop Central,” Eve began. She knew she
wasn't running at full capability yet, just as she knew Mavis couldn't afford
for her to take any down time. “I want to get some of this business squared away
before I clock in. As soon as I do, I imagine Whitney will call me up. I need
ammunition.”

“No problem.”
Peabody knew there really were people who lived like this. She'd heard of it,
read of it, seen it on screen. And there was nothing particularly fabulous
about the lieutenant's rooms. They were nice, certainly -- plenty of space,
good furnishings, excellent equipment.

But the house.
Jesus, the house. It went beyond the category of mansion into that of fortress,
or maybe even castle. The green lawns, flowering trees, and fountains. There
were all the towers, the sparkle of stone. That was before you were brought
inside by a butler and blown away by marble and crystal and wood. And space. So
much space.

“Peabody?”

“What? Sorry.”

“It's all
right. The place is pretty intimidating.”

“It's
incredible.” She swung her gaze back to Eve. “You look different here,” she
decided, then narrowed her eyes. “You do look different. Hey, you got your hair
cut. And the eyebrows.” Intrigued, she leaned closer. “A skin job.”

“It was just a
facial.” Eve caught herself just before she squirmed. “Can we get down to it
now, or do you want the name of my consultant?”

“Couldn't
afford it,” Peabody said cheerfully. “But you look good. You want to start
primping up since you're getting married in a couple weeks.”

“It's not a
couple weeks, it's next month.”

“Guess you
haven't noticed that it's next month now. You're nervous.” Amusement flitted
around Peabody's mouth. “You never get nervous.”

“Shut up,
Peabody. We've got homicide here.”

“Yes, sir.”
Slightly ashamed, Peabody swallowed the smirk. “I thought we were killing time
until Captain Feeney arrived.”

“I've got a
ten o'clock interview with Redford. I don't have time to kill. Give me the
rundown of your progress at the club.”

“I have my
report.” Back in the saddle, Peabody took a disc out of her bag. “I arrived at
seventeen thirty-five, approached the subject known as Crack, and identified
myself as your aide.”

“What did you
think of him?”

“An
individual,” Peabody said dryly. “He suggested I would make a good table
dancer, as I appeared to have strong legs. I told him it wasn't an option at
this time.”

“Good one.”

“He was
cooperative. In my judgment, he was angry when I informed him of Hetta's death,
and the means. She hadn't worked there long, but he said she was good-natured,
efficient, and successful.”

“In those
words.”

“In the
vernacular, Dallas. His vernacular, which is quoted in my report. He did not
observe who she spoke with after the incident with Boomer as the club was
crowded and he was busy.”

“Cracking
heads.”

“Exactly. He
did, however, point out several other employees and regulars who might have
seen her with someone. I have their names and their statements. None noticed
anything peculiar or out of the ordinary. One client believed he observed her
going into one of the private booths with another man, but he didn't recall the
time, and his description is vague. 'A tall dude.'“

“Terrific.”

“She clocked
out at oh two fifteen, which was more than an hour earlier than her habit. She
told one of the other companions that she'd made over her quota and was calling
it a night. Flashed a fistful of credits and cash. Bragged about a new customer
who believed in paying for quality. That was the last time she was seen at the
club.”

“Her body was
found three days later.” Frustrated, Eve pushed away from the table. “If I'd
gotten the case sooner, or if Carmichael had bothered to dig... Well, that's
done.”

“She was well
liked.”

“Did she have
a partner?”

“No one
serious or long term. Those kind of clubs discourage dating the customers on
the outside, and apparently Hetta was a real pro. She did move around from club
to club, but so far, I haven't hit on anything. If she worked anywhere the
night she died, there's no record of it.”

“Did she use?”

“Socially,
casually. Nothing heavy, according to the people I spoke with. I checked her sheet,
and other than a couple of old possession charges, she was clean.”

“How old?”

“Five years.”

“Okay, keep on
it. Hetta's yours.” She glanced over as Feeney strolled in. “Glad you could
join us.”

“Hey,
traffic's murder out there. Muffins!” He pounced. “How's it going, Peabody?”

“Good morning,
Captain.”

“Some digs,
huh? New shirt, Dallas?”

“No.”

“Look
different.” He poured coffee while she rolled her eyes. “Found our snake
tattoo. Mavis hit Ground Zero at about two, bought herself a Screamer and a
table dancer. Talked to the guy myself last night after I bounced to it. He
remembers her. Said she was way out of orbit, and chugging them back. He
offered her a list of accepted services, but she passed and staggered out.”

Feeney sighed,
sat. “If she crawled into any other clubs, she didn't use credit. I've got
nothing after her totaling out from Ground Zero at two forty-five.”

“Where's
Ground Zero?”

“About six
blocks from the murder scene. She'd been moving steadily down and across town
from the time she left Pandora and walked into ZigZag. She went into five other
clubs between, Screamers all the way, mostly triples. I don't know how she
stayed on her feet.”

“Six blocks,”
Dallas murmured. “Thirty minutes before the murder.”

“I'm sorry,
kid. It doesn't make it look any better for her. Now, the security discs.
Leonardo's scanner was busted up at ten on the night in question. Lots of
complaints about kids whacking outside cameras in that area, so it's likely
that's how it went down. Pandora's security was turned off using the code. No
fiddling, no sabotage. Whoever went in knew how to get in.”

“Knew her,
knew the setup.”

“Had to,”
Feeney agreed. “I can't find any blips on the discs from Justin Young's
building security. I've got them going in about one thirty, and her going out
again at ten or twelve the next day. Nothing in between. But...” He paused for
effect. “He's got a back door.”

“What?”

“Domestic
entrance, through the kitchen to a freight elevator. No security on the
freight. It goes to six other floors and the garage. Now, the garage has
security, and so do the other floors. But...” Another pause. “You can also take
it to the rear utility, ground floor. The maintenance area, and security's very
spotty there.”

“Could they
have gotten out unobserved?”

“Could have.”
Feeney slurped coffee. “If they knew the building, the system, and if they were
careful to time the exit to avoid the sweep in maintenance.”

“Could put a
different light on their alibis. Bless you, Feeney.”

“Yeah, well.
Send money. Or just give me these muffins.”

“They're
yours. I think we'll have to talk to our young lovers again. We've got some
interesting players here. Justin Young used to sleep with Pandora and is now
intimately involved with Jerry Fitzgerald who is one of Pandora's associates
and her top rival for queen of the runway. Both Fitzgerald and Pandora are
after a screen career. Enter Redford, producer. He's interested in working with
Fitzgerald, has worked with Young, and is sleeping with Pandora. All four of
these people are partying at Pandora's, at her invitation on the night she's
killed. Now, why would she want them there, her rival, her ex-lover, and the
producer?”

“She liked
drama,” Peabody put in. “She enjoyed friction.”

“Yeah, true.
She also liked causing discomfort. I wonder if she had something she wanted to
rub their faces in. They were all very calm in interview,” she recalled. “Very
composed, very easy. Let's see if we can shake them up.”

Eve glanced
over as the panel between her offices and Roarke's slid open.

“It wasn't
secured,” he said as he stopped on the threshold. “I'm interrupting.”

“It's all
right. We just need to finish up.”

“Hey, Roarke.”
Feeney toasted him with a muffin. “Ready to strap on the old ball and chain?
Just a joke,” he muttered when Eve scalded him with a look.

“I think I'll
continue to hobble along well enough.” He glanced at Peabody, lifted a brow.

“Sorry.
Officer Peabody, Roarke.”

At Eve's
introduction, he smiled, crossed the room. “The efficient Officer Peabody. It's
a pleasure.”

Struggling not
to goggle, she accepted the hand he offered. “Nice to meet you.”

“If I could
steal the lieutenant for just a moment, I'll get out of your way.” He laid a
hand on Eve's shoulder, squeezed. When she rose to go with him, Feeney snorted.

“You're going
to swallow your tongue, Peabody. Why is it just because a man's got the face of
a devil and the body of a god, women get all glassy-eyed?”

“It's hormonal,”
Peabody muttered, but she continued to watch Roarke and Eve. She'd developed an
interest in relationship games recently.

“How are you?”
Roarke asked.

“I'm fine.”

He cupped
Eve's chin, dipped his thumb lightly in its dent. “I believe you're working at
it. I have some meetings in midtown this morning, but I thought you'd want
this.” He handed her a card, one of his own, with a name and address scrawled
on the back. “It's the off planet expert you asked about. She'll make time for
whatever you need. She already has the sample you gave to me, but would like
another. Cross-testing, I believe she called it.”

“Thanks.” Eve
slipped the card into her pocket. “Really.”

“The reports
from Starlight Station -- “

“Starlight
Station?” It took her a moment. “Christ, I forgot I asked you. My mind's not
cued.”

“It has a
great deal to do just now. In any case, my sources tell me Pandora did quite a
bit of socializing this last trip -- which is usual. There didn't seem to be
anyone in particular she was interested in. At least not for more than one
night.”

“Shit, is it
always sex?”

“With her it
was a priority.” He smiled when Eve's eyes narrowed and speculated. “And, as I
said before, our short liaison was a long time ago. She did, however, make a
number of calls, all on her pocket 'link. She never used the resort's system.”

“No outside
record,” Eve mused.

“That would be
my take. She was on assignment, and did her job with her usual flair. There's
some talk about the way she bragged about a new product she was going to
endorse, and a video.”

Eve grunted
and filed the data away. “I appreciate the time.”

“Always happy
to support our local police. We have an appointment with the florist at three.
Can you make it?”

She shuffled
obligations in her head. “If you can squeeze it in, so can I.”

Not willing to
risk it, he took her logbook out of her pocket and programmed the appointment
himself. “I'll see you there.” He lowered his head, watched her eyes shift
toward the table across the room. “I doubt this will diminish your authority,”
he murmured, then pressed his lips softly to hers. “I love you.”

“Yeah, well.”
She cleared her throat. “Okay.”

“Poetry.”
Amused, he skimmed a hand through her hair, kissed her again to fluster her.
“Officer Peabody, Feeney.” With a nod, he stepped back into his office. The
panel slid shut behind him.

“Wipe that
stupid grin off your face, Feeney. I've got a drop-off for you.” She pulled the
card back out of her pocket as she went back to the table. “I need you to take
a sample of the powder we took from Boomer's to this flora expert. Roarke's
cleared it. She's not a police and security attache, so keep it low profile.”

“Can do.”

“I'll be
checking in with her later today on her progress. Peabody, you're with me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Peabody waited
until she was in Eve's car before she spoke. “I guess it's a lot of work for a
cop to juggle personal relationships.”

“Tell me about
it.” Grill suspect, lie to commanding officer, hassle lab tech. Order bridal
bouquet. Jesus.

“But if you're
steady, you know, careful, it doesn't have to bog down your career.”

“If you ask
me, cops are a bad bet. But what do I know?” In a nervous rhythm, she tapped
her fingers on the wheel. “Feeney's been married since the dawn of time. The
commander has a happy home. Others do it.” She blew out a breath. “I'm working
on it.” It struck her as she drove through the gates. “You got a personal thing
going, Peabody?”

“Maybe. I'm
thinking about it.” She rubbed her hands on her pants, linked them, pulled them
apart.

“Anybody I
know?”

“Actually.”
Peabody shifted her feet. “It's Casto.”

“Casto?” Eve
headed crosstown to Ninth, swung around a commuter tram. “No shit. When did
this happen?”

“Well, I ran
into him last night. That is, I caught him shadowing me, so -- “

“Shadowing
you?” Quickly, Eve rammed the car to auto. It shuddered, whined, then chugged.
“What the hell are you talking about?”

“He's got a
good nose. He sniffed out we were digging at a lead. I was pretty steamed when
I tagged him, then I had to admit, I'd have done the same thing.”

Eve tapped her
fingers on the wheel, thought about it. “Yeah, so would I. Did he try to pump
you?”

Peabody
flushed deep red, stuttered.

“Jesus,
Peabody, I didn't mean -- “

“I know, I
know. I'm not used to this, Dallas. I mean I like men, sure.” She brushed at
her bangs, checked the collar of her stiff uniform shirt. “I've been around
some, but men like Casto -- you know, like Roarke.”

“They fry the
circuits.”

“Yeah.” It was
a relief to be able to lay it out to someone who would understand. “He did try
to slide some data out of me, but he took it well enough when I wouldn't give.
He knows the route. The chief says interdepartmental cooperation, and we pretty
much ignore it.”

“You think
he's got something of his own?”

“He might. He
made the rounds at the club just like I did. That's how I tagged him first.
Then, when I left, he followed me. I led him around for awhile, just to see
what he'd do.” Her smile spread. “And I backtracked him. You should have seen
his face when I came up behind him and he knew he'd been nailed.”

“Good work.”

“We got into
it a little. Territory, and all that. Then we, well, we had a drink, agreed to
put the cop routine on hold. It was nice. We have a lot of common ground,
outside the job. Music and films and stuff. Hell, oh Jesus, I slept with him.”

“Oh.”

“I know it was
stupid. But, well, I did.”

Eve waited a
moment. “So, how was it?”

“Wow.”

“That good,
huh?”

“Then this
morning, he said maybe we could have dinner or something.”

“So, it sounds
pretty normal to me.”

Sober-eyed
again, Peabody shook her head. “Guys like that aren't attracted to me. I know
he's got a thing for you -- “

Eve's hand
shot up. “Hold on, playback.”

“Come on,
Dallas, you know he does. He's attracted to you. He admires your skill, your
mind. Your legs.”

“You're not
going to tell me you and Casto discussed my legs.”

“No, but your
mind came up. Anyway, I don't know if I should take this any farther. I've got
to concentrate on my career, and he's steeped in his. When this case is
resolved, we'll lose the connection.”

Hadn't Eve
thought the same when Roarke had hit her between the eyes? It should have been
true. It usually was. “You're attracted to him, you like him, you find him interesting
to be around.”

“Sure.”

“And the sex
was good.”

“The sex was
incredible.”

“Then, as your
superior, Peabody, my advice is, go for it.”

Peabody smiled
a little, then looked out the window. “Maybe I'll think about it.”

*** CHAPTER FOURTEEN ***

Eve was
pleased with her timing. She clocked into Cop Central at 9: 55, went directly
to Interview. By avoiding her office, she avoided any messages from Commander
Whitney demanding her presence. She hoped by the time she had to face him,
she'd have the buffer of new information.

Redford was
prompt, she had to give him that. And he was as sleek and unruffled as he'd
been the first time she'd seen him.

“Lieutenant, I
hope this won't take long. It's a very inconvenient time.”

“Then we'll
get started right away. Have a seat.” She closed and secured the door behind
her.

Interview
wasn't the most pleasant of atmospheres. It wasn't meant to be. The conference
table was small, the chairs hard, the walls unadorned. The mirror was obviously
two-way glass and meant to intimidate. She went directly to her recorder,
engaged, and recited the necessary data.

“Mr. Redford,
you are entitled to counsel or a representative at Interview.”

“Are you
reading me my rights, Lieutenant?”

“If you
request I do so, I'll oblige. You are not charged, but you are entitled to
counsel when being questioned in a formal interview. Do you wish counsel?”

“Not at this
time.” He flicked a speck of lint from his sleeve. Gold winked at his wrist in
the form of a cuff bracelet. “I'm more than willing to cooperate with this
investigation, as I've proven by coming here today.”

“I'd like to
replay your previous statement so that you have the opportunity to add, delete,
or change any portions thereof.” She slipped the labeled disc into the slot.
With mild impatience in his eyes, Redford listened.

“Do you wish
to stand by that statement, as given?”

“Yes, it's as
accurate as I can remember.”

“Very well.”
Eve replaced the disc and folded her hands. “You and the victim were sexual
partners.”

“That's
correct.”

“This was not
an exclusive arrangement.”

“Not at all.
Neither of us wished it to be.”

“Did you on
the night of the murder engage with the victim in the use of illegals?”

“No.”

“Did you, at
any other time, engage with the victim in the use of illegals?”

He smiled.
When he angled his head, she caught more gold, threaded through the sleek queue
twisting to his shoulder blades. “No. I didn't share Pandora's affection for
substances.”

“Did you have
the victim's security code for her town house in New York?”

“Her security
code.” His brow furrowed. “I might have it. Probably.” For the first time he
appeared uneasy. Eve could all but see his mind weighing his answer and the
consequences. “I imagine she gave it to me at one time or another to simplify
matters when I visited her.” Composed again, he took out his notebook, keyed in
data. “Yes, I have it here.”

“Did you use
her code to gain access to her home on the night of her murder?”

“A domestic
let me in. There wasn't any need for it.”

“No, there
wouldn't have been. Before her murder. Are you aware that her security code
also engages and disengages her video system?”

Caution
flickered in his eyes again. “I'm not sure I follow you.”

“With the
code, which you state is in your possession, the outside security camera can be
deactivated. That camera was deactivated for a period of approximately one hour
after the murder. During that period, Mr. Redford, you state you were at your
club. Alone. During that period, someone who knew the victim, who was in
possession of her code, who was aware of the workings of her home and security,
deactivated the system, entered the house, and it would seem, took something
from the house.”

“I would have
no reason to do any of those things. I was at my club, Lieutenant. I keyed in
and out.”

“A member can
key in and out without ever going in.” She watched his face harden. “You saw an
ornate, possibly Chinese antique box, from which you state the victim took a
substance and ingested it. You further state that she then locked the box away
in the vanity of her bedroom. This box has not been found. Are you sure this
box existed?”

There was ice
now, but beneath it, just around the edges of it, she thought she caught
something else. Not panic, not yet. But wariness, and worry.

“Are you
certain the box you described existed, Mr. Redford?”

“I saw it.”

“And the key?”

“The key?” He
reached for a pitcher of water. His hand was still steady, Eve noted, but that
mind was working overtime. “She wore it on a chain, a gold chain, around her
neck.”

“No chain or
key was recovered on the body or at the scene.”

“Then it would
follow that the murderer took it, wouldn't it, Lieutenant?”

“Did she wear
the key openly?”

“No, she -- “
He stopped, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “Very good, Lieutenant. As far as
I am aware, she wore it under her clothes. But, as I have stated, I am not the
only one who was invited to see Pandora without clothing.”

“Why were you
paying her?”

“I beg your
pardon?”

“Over the past
eighteen months, you transferred over three hundred thousand dollars into the
victim's credit accounts. Why?”

His eyes went
blank, but Eve saw, for the first time, fear behind them. “Certainly what I do
with my money is my own business.”

“No, it's not.
Not when it's murder. Was she blackmailing you?”

“That's
absurd.”

“Plays for me.
She had something on you, something dangerous, embarrassing, something she
enjoyed holding over you. She nibbled away, demanding little payments here and
there, and some not so little. I imagine she was the type to flaunt that kind
of power, to enjoy it. A man could get tired of that. A man could begin to
realize there was only one way to end it. It wasn't the money, really, was it,
Mr. Redford? It was the power, the control, and that enjoyment she rubbed in
your face.”

His breathing
deepened raggedly, but his face remained still. “I would say that Pandora was
not above blackmail, Lieutenant. But she had nothing on me, and I would not
tolerate threats.”

“What would
you do about them?”

“A man in my
position can afford to ignore quite a bit. In my business, success is much more
important than gossip.”

“Then why did
you pay her? For sex?”

“That's
insulting.”

“No, I suppose
a man in your position wouldn't have to pay for sex. Still, it might add a
certain twist to the excitement. Do you ever frequent the Down and Dirty Club
on the East End?”

“I don't
frequent the East End, and I certainly don't frequent a second-rate sex club.”

“But you know
what it is. Were you ever there with Pandora?”

“No.”

“Alone?”

“I said I
hadn't been there.”

“Where were
you on June tenth, at approximately two A.M.?”

“What is
this?”

“Can you
verify your whereabouts on that date and time?”

“I don't know
where I was. I don't have to answer that.”

“Were your
payments to Pandora business payments, gifts?”

“Yes, no.” He
fisted his hands under the table. “I believe I'd like to consult with counsel
now.”

“Sure. Your
choice. We will break this interview to allow subject to exercise his right to
consult counsel. Disengage.” She smiled. “You'd better tell them all you know.
You'd better tell someone. And if you're not in this alone, I'd advise you to
start thinking seriously about rolling over.” She pushed back from the table.
“There's a public 'link outside.”

“I have my
own,” he said stiffly. “If you could show me to a room where I can make my call
privately.”

“No problem.
Come with me.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

Eve managed to
avoid Whitney by transmitting an update and steering clear of her desk. She
snagged Peabody and headed out.

“You shook
Redford. You really shook him.”

“That was the
idea.”

“It was the
way you kept coming at him from different angles. Everything straight down the
line at first, then pow. You tripped him up with the club.”

“He'll get his
balance back. I still have the payment he made to Fitzgerald to pitch at him,
but he'll be more prepared. This reprieve with his lawyers.”

“Yeah, and he
won't underestimate you again. You think he did it?”

“I think he
could have. He hated her. If we can link him to the drugs... we'll see.” So
many angles to explore, Eve thought, and time was racing -- racing toward
Mavis's pretrial hearing. If she didn't have something solid within the next
couple of days... “I want that unknown ID'd. I want to know the source. We find
the source, we follow it.”

“Is that when
you're going to bring Casto in? That's a professional inquiry.”

“He'd have
better contacts. I'll share the wealth once we have the unknown nailed.” Her
'link beeped, and she winced. “Shit, shit, shit. I know that's Whitney. I can
feel it.” She blanked her face and answered. “Dallas.”

“What the hell
are you doing?”

“Sir, checking
a lead. I'm en route to the lab.”

“I left orders
for you to be in my office at oh nine hundred.”

“I'm sorry,
Commander, I didn't receive that transmission. I haven't been to my desk. If
you've received my report, you'll see that I've been tied up in interview this
morning. Subject is currently consulting counsel. I believe -- “

“Cut the tap
dance, Lieutenant. I spoke with Dr. Mira a few minutes ago.”

Her skin
seemed to ice over, go stiff. “Sir.”

“I'm
disappointed in you, Lieutenant.” He spoke slowly, his eyes hard on hers. “That
you would consider wasting the department's time and manpower on such a matter.
We have no intention nor desire to investigate formally, or to launch any
informal inquiries into the incident. This matter is closed, and will remain
closed. Is that understood, Lieutenant?”

Emotions
swirled: relief, guilt, gratitude. “Sir, I -- Yes. Understood.”

“Very well.
The leak to Channel 75 has caused major problems here.”

“Yes, sir.”
Snap back, she ordered herself. Think of Mavis. “I'm sure it has.”

“You are aware
of departmental policy on unauthorized leaks to the media.”

“Well aware.”

“How is Ms.
Furst?”

“I thought she
looked quite well on screen, Commander.”

He scowled,
but there was a glint in his eye. “You stay on the balls of your feet, Dallas.
And you be here, my office, eighteen hundred. We have a fucking press
conference.”

“Good dodge,”
Peabody congratulated. “And all truth, except that you told him we were en
route to the lab.”

“I didn't say
which lab.”

“What was that
other business? He seemed pretty steamed over it. Have you got something else
going on? Does it hook with this?”

“No, it's old
business. Dead business.” Grateful to have gotten through it, Eve glided toward
the gate of Futures Laboratories and Research, a subsidiary of Roarke
Industries. “Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD,” she announced into the scanner.

“You are
expected, Lieutenant. Please proceed to Blue parking facility. Leave your
vehicle and take transport C to the East complex, sector six, level one. You
will be met.”

They were met
by a lab droid, an attractive brunette with milk-white skin, clear blue eyes,
and a security badge that identified her as Anna-6. Her voice was as melodious
as church bells.

“Good
afternoon, Lieutenant. I hope you had no trouble finding us.”

“No, we
didn't.”

“Very good.
Dr. Engrave will see you in the solarium. It's very pleasant there. If you'd
follow me.”

“That's a
droid,” Peabody murmured to Eve, and Anna-6 turned, smiled beautifully.

“I'm a new,
experimental model. There are only ten of us at this stage, all in use here, at
this complex. We hope to be on the market within six months. The research
behind us is very extensive, and unfortunately the cost is still prohibitive
for most general markets. We hope that larger industries will find the expense
worthwhile until we can be cost-effectively mass produced.”

Eve cocked a
head. “Has Roarke seen you?”

“Of course.
Roarke approves all new products. He was very involved in the design.”

“I bet he
was.”

“Through here,
please,” Anna-6 continued, turning into a long, arched corridor in hospital
white. “Dr. Engrave has found your specimen highly interesting. I'm sure you
will find her very helpful.” She stopped by a mini wall screen and coded in a
sequence. “Anna-6,” she announced. “Accompanied by Lieutenant Dallas and aide.”

The tiles
parted, opening up into a large room filled with flora and lovely artificial
sunlight. There was the tinkle of running water and the lazy drone of contented
bees.

“I will leave
you here and return to lead you out. Please request any refreshment you might
like. Dr. Engrave often forgets to offer.”

“Go smile
someplace else, Anna.” The testy voice seemed to come from a clump of ferns.
Anna-6 merely smiled, stepped back, and let the tiles click together. “I know
droids have their place, but damned if they don't make me itchy. Over here, in
the spirea.”

Warily, Eve
stepped to the ferns, and through. There, kneeling in rich black dirt, was a
woman. Her graying hair was scooped up in a messy knot, her hands reddened and
soiled. Coveralls that might have once been white were stained with too many
streaks to identify. She looked up, and her plain, narrow face proved to be as
filthy as her clothes.

“I'm checking
my worms. Trying out a new breed.” She held up a clump of dirt that wiggled.

“Very nice,”
Eve decided and was faintly relieved when Engrave buried the busy clump.

“So, you're
Roarke's cop. Always figured he'd choose one of those fussy purebreds with the
skinny necks and big boobs.” She pursed her lips as she looked Eve over. “Glad
he didn't. Trouble with purebreds is, they need constant pampering. Give me a
good hybrid any day.”

Engrave wiped
her dirty hands on her dirty clothes. When she rose, she proved to be about
five feet tall. “Digging around with worms is good therapy. More people should
try it, then they wouldn't need drugs to get through the day.”

“Speaking of
drugs...”

“Yes, yes,
over here.” She started off at marching pace, then began to slow, to meander.
“Need some pruning here. More nitrogen. Underwatered. Root bound.” She paused
beside spearing green leaves, trailing vines, explosive blooms. “It's gotten to
the stage they pay me to garden. Nice work if you can get it. Know what this
is?”

Eve looked at
a purple trumpet-shaped bloom. She was pretty sure, but wary of a trap. “A
flower.”

“Petunia. Hah.
People have forgotten the charm of the traditional.” She stopped by a sink,
washed some of the dirt off her hands, left more under her short ragged nails.
“Everybody wants exotic nowadays. Bigger, better, different. A good bed of
petunias will give a lot of pleasure for little care. You plant them, don't
expect them to be something they're not, and enjoy. They're simple, don't
wither up on you if you look cross-eyed. A good bed of petunias means
something. Well then.”

She hoisted
herself onto a stool in front of a workbench crowded with garden tools, pots,
papers, an AutoChef that blinked on empty, and a top-of-the-line computer
system.

“That was an
interesting bag of tricks you sent over with that Irishman. Who knew his
petunias, by the way.”

“Feeney's a
man of many talents.”

“Gave him a
nice flat of pansies for his wife.” Engrave engaged the computer. “Already ran
analysis on the sample Roarke brought by. Sweet-talked me into putting a rush
on it. Another Irishman. God love 'em. Believe in crossing my t's on something
like this. The fresh sample gave me more to work with.”

“Then you have
the results -- “

“Don't rush
me, girl. It only works with good-looking Micks. And I don't like working for
cops.” Engrave smiled widely. “They don't appreciate the art of science. Bet
you don't even know your periodic table, do you?”

“Listen,
Doctor -- “ To Eve's relief the formula flashed on screen. “Is this unit
controlled?”

“It's
passkeyed, don't you worry. Roarke said it was top security. I've been off the
turnip truck longer than you've been alive.” She brushed Eve off with one grimy
hand, gestured toward the screen with the other. “Now, I don't have to go into
the basic elements here. A child could make them, so I assume you've ID'd
them.”

“It's the
single unknown -- “

“I know the
drill, Lieutenant. Here's your little problem.” She highlighted a series of
factors. “You haven't tagged it from this formula, because they coded it. What
you got here's just a bunch of gibberish. It's what you've got here.” Reaching
over, she took a small slide dusted with powder. “Even your top labs would have
a tough time fining this down. It looks like one thing, it smells like another.
And when it's all blended together as it is in this form, it's the reaction
that changes the mix. You know much about chemistry?”

“Do I have
to?”

“If more
people understood -- “

“Dr. Engrave,
I want to understand murder. You tell me what it is, and let me go from there.”

“Impatience is
another problem with people today,” Engrave huffed, then took out a small
covered dish. Inside were a few drops of milky liquid. “Since you don't give a
rat's skinny ass, I won't tell you what I did. We'll leave it that I ran some
tests, did some basic chemistry, and separated your unknown.”

“Is that it?”

“In its liquid
form, yes. I bet your lab tech told you it was some form of a valarian --
southwest U. S. native species.”

Eve looked
over. “And?”

“He'd be
close, but no cigar. It's a plant, all right, and valarian was used in the
grafting of the specimen. This is nectar, the substance that seduces the birds
and bees and makes the world go round. This nectar is not from any native
species.”

“Not native to
the U. S.”

“Not native
anywhere. Period.” She reached over, picked up a potted plant, and set it down
with a thud. “This is your baby.”

“It's pretty,”
Peabody said, leaning closer to the lush frilled-edged blooms that varied from
creamy white to royal purple. She sniffed, closed her eyes, and sniffed deeper.
“God, it's wonderful. It's like...” Her head swam. “Strong.”

“You bet your
ass it's strong. That's enough or you'll be buzzed for an hour.” Engrave shoved
the plant clear.

“Peabody?” Eve
took her arm, shook. “Snap out of it.”

“It's like
taking a full glass of champagne in one gulp.” She pressed a hand to her
temple. “It's wonderful.”

“An
experimental hybrid,” Engrave explained. “Code name Immortal Blossom. This one
is fourteen months old, and it's never stopped blooming. They were grafted in
the Eden Colony.”

“Sit down,
Peabody. The nectar from this is what we're looking for?”

“By itself the
nectar is potent and causes a reaction in bees not unlike drunkenness. They
have the same sort of reaction to overripe fruit, windfall peaches for example,
where the juice is highly concentrated. Unless the intake is controlled, it's
been found that the bees OD on the nectar. They just can't get enough of it.”

“Addicted
bees?”

“You could say
that. Basically, they don't want to go fucking the other flowers because
they're so seduced by this one. Your lab didn't hook into it because the
hybrid's on the horticultural colonies' restricted list, and puts it under
Galactic Customs' jurisdiction. The colony is working to alleviate this problem
with the nectar, as it puts a world of hurt on the potential for export.”

“So the
Immortal Blossom is a controlled specimen.”

“For the
moment. There are some medicinal uses, and particularly cosmetic ones.
Ingestion of the nectar can cause a luminescence to the skin, a rejuvenation of
elasticity, and an appearance of youth.”

“But it's
poison. Long-term use undermines the nervous system. Our lab confirmed that.”

“So's arsenic,
but fine ladies once took it in small doses to make their skin whiter, clearer.
Beauty and youth are desperate matters for some.” Engrave shrugged her bony
shoulders in dismissal. “In combination with the other elements in this
formula, this nectar is an activator. The result is a highly addictive chemical
that causes increased energy and strength, sexual desire, and the feeling of
renewed youth. And since uncontrolled, these hybrids will propagate like
rabbits, it has the potential to be produced cheaply and in great bulk.”

“They'll
propagate in on planet conditions?”

“Absolutely.
The Eden Colony produces vegetation, flora, and plant life for on planet
conditions.”

“So you get a
few plants,” Eve mused. “A lab, the other chemicals.”

“And you've got
yourself an illegal with mass appeal. Pay up,” Engrave said with a sour smile,
“be strong, be beautiful, be young and sexy. Whoever came up with this formula
knew his chemistry and his human nature and understands the beauty of profit.”

“Fatal
beauty.”

“Oh sure, four
to six years of regular use will take you down. Your nervous system will just
give out. But in four to six years, you'll have a hell of a time, and
somebody's going to make big, fat credits.”

“How do you
know so much about this -- what, Immortal Blossom -- if its cultivation is
limited to the Eden Colony?”

“Because I'm
the top in my field, I do my homework, and my daughter happens to be head
beekeeper on Eden. A licensed lab, such as this, or a horticulture expert can,
with limitations, import a specimen.”

“You mean
we've already got some of these down here, on planet?”

“Mostly
replicas, harmless simulations, but some of the genuine article. Regulated --
for indoor, controlled use only. Now, I've got roses to graft. Take the report
and the two samples to your bright boys at Cop Central. If they can't put it
all together from that, they ought to be hanged anyway.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

“You all
right, Peabody?” Cautious, Eve kept a firm hand on Peabody's arm as she opened
the car door.

“Yeah, just
really relaxed.”

“Too relaxed
to drive,” Eve noted. “I was going to have you drop me off at the florist. Plan
B, we swing by and get you something to eat to counteract your flower sniffing,
then you take the samples and Engrave's report by the lab.”

“Dallas.” Peabody
let her head rest against the seat back. “I really feel wonderful.”

Cautious, Eve
eyed her. “You're not going to kiss me or anything?”

Peabody
slanted her a look. “You're not my type. Anyway, I don't feel particularly
sexy. Just good. If taking that stuff is anything like smelling that flower,
people are going to go crazy for it.”

“Yeah.
Someone's already gone crazy enough to kill three people.”

Eve dashed
into the florist shop. She had twenty minutes on the outside if she was going
to track down her other suspects, badger them, get back to the station to file
her report, and make the press conference.

She spotted
Roarke loitering near a display of small, flowering trees.

“Our floral
consultant is waiting for us.”

“Sorry.” She
wondered why anyone would want trees that were less than a foot tall. They made
her feel like a freak. “I'm backed up.”

“I just walked
in myself. Was Dr. Engrave helpful?”

“And then
some. She's quite a character.” She followed him under a trellis of fragrant
vines. “I got a load of Anna-6.”

“Ah, the Anna
line. I think it's going to be a hit.”

“Especially
with teenage boys.”

Roarke laughed
and urged her through. “Mark, this is my fiancee, Eve Dallas.”

“Ah, yes.” He
looked like everyone's favorite uncle when he extended a hand, and his grip was
like an arm wrestler's on a dare. “Let's see what we can do for you. Weddings
are such a complicated business, and you haven't left me much time.”

“He didn't
give me a hell of a lot, either.”

Mark laughed,
patted his silvery hair. “Sit, relax, have a little tea. I have a great deal to
show you.”

She didn't
mind really, Eve decided. She liked flowers. She just hadn't known there were
so damn many of them. And after five minutes, her head began to swim with
orchids and lilies, roses and gardenias.

“Simple,”
Roarke decided. “Traditional. No simulations.”

“Yes, of
course. I have some holograms that may spark some ideas. You're having it
outdoors, so I might suggest arbors, wisteria. Very traditional, and with a
lovely, old-fashioned fragrance.”

Eve studied
the holograms, tried to envision herself standing under an arbor with Roarke,
exchanging vows. Her stomach jittered. “What about petunias?”

Mark blinked.
“Petunias?”

“I like
petunias. They're simple, and they don't pretend to be what they're not.”

“Yes,
certainly. Quite charming. Perhaps backed with a bank of lilies. As to
color...”

“Do you carry
Immortal Blossoms?” she asked on impulse.

“Immortals.”
Mark's eyes brightened. “They're quite a specialty item. Difficult to import,
of course, but very hardy and spectacular in baskets. I have several
simulations.”

“We don't want
simulations,” Eve reminded him.

“I'm afraid
they can only be exported in small amounts, and then only to licensed florists
and horticulturists. And only for indoor use. As your ceremony is outdoors -- “

“Do you sell
many?”

“Very rarely,
and only to other licensed horticulture experts. I do have something just as
lovely -- “

“You have
records of those sales? Can you get me a list of names? You're on the net for
world delivery, aren't you?”

“Naturally,
but -- “

“I need to
know everyone who ordered Immortals during the past two years.”

When Mark sent
him a baffled look, Roarke ran his tongue around his teeth. “My fiancee is an
avid gardener.”

“Yes, I see.
It may take a few moments to access. You want everyone.”

“Everyone who
placed an order to the Eden Colony for Immortals during the last two years. You
can start with the States.”

“If you'll
just wait then, I'll see what I can do.”

“I like the arbor
idea,” Eve announced, springing up when Mark left them. “Don't you?”

Roarke rose,
put his hands on her shoulders. “Why don't you let me handle the floral
arrangements? I'll surprise you.”

“I'll owe you
one.”

“Indeed you
will. You can start paying me back by remembering we're attending Leonardo's
showing on Friday.”

“I knew that.”

“And by
remembering to access your three weeks' leave for our honeymoon.”

“I thought we
said two.”

“We did. Now
you owe me one. Would you like to tell me why you have this sudden fascination
with a flower from the Eden Colony? Or do I just assume that you found your
unknown.”

“It's the
nectar. It does a lot to tie the three homicides together. If I can just get a
break.”

“I hope this
is what you're looking for.” Mark came back in with a sheet of paper. “It
wasn't as difficult as I'd feared. There haven't been many orders for
Immortals. Most importers are satisfied with simulations. There are a few
problems with the actual specimen.”

“Thank you.”
Eve took the page, skimmed down the list. “Gotcha,” she murmured then whirled
to Roarke. “I have to go. Buy lots of flowers, boatloads of flowers. Don't
forget the petunias.” She charged out, pulling her communicator. “Peabody.”

“But -- but
the bouquet. The bridal bouquet.” Confused, Mark turned to Roarke. “She hasn't
chosen.”

Roarke watched
her fly out. “I know what she likes,” he said. “Often better than she does.”

*** CHAPTER FIFTEEN ***

“Nice to have
you back, Mr. Redford.”

“This is
becoming an unfortunate habit, Lieutenant.” Redford took his seat at the
interview table. “I'm expected in New Los Angeles in a few hours. I trust you
won't inconvenience me long.”

“I believe in
backing up my data. Wouldn't want anything or anyone to slip through the
cracks.”

She glanced
toward the corner where Peabody stood, looking her officious best in full
uniform. On the other side of the glass, Eve knew, Whitney and the prosecutor
watched every move. She nailed it down here, or very likely, she'd be nailed
herself.

She took her
seat, nodded to the hologram of Redford's chosen counsel. Obviously, neither
Redford nor his attorney believed the situation was serious enough to warrant
an in-the-flesh representation. “Counselor, you have the transcript of your
client's statements?”

“I do.” The
pinstriped, tough-eyed image folded his manicured hands. “My client has
cooperated fully with you and your department, Lieutenant. We agree to this
interview only to finalize the matter.”

You agreed to
it because you don't have a choice, she thought, but kept her face bland. “Your
cooperation is noted, Mr. Redford. You have stated that you were acquainted
with Pandora, that you had a casual and intimate relationship.”

“That's
correct.”

“Were you also
involved in any business dealings with her?”

“I produced
two direct-to-home screen videos in which Pandora played a part. Another was
under consideration.”

“Were these
projects successful?”

“Moderately.”

“And outside
of these projects, did you have any other business dealings with the deceased?”

“None.” A
faint smile touched his mouth. “Other than a small speculative investment.”

“A small
speculative investment?”

“She claimed
to have been laying groundwork for her own fashion and beauty line. Of course,
she needed backers and I was intrigued enough to invest.”

“You gave her
money?”

“Yes, over the
course of the last year and a half, I invested just over three hundred
thousand.”

Found a way to
cover your ass, Eve noted, and leaned back in her chair. “What's the status of
this fashion and beauty line you claim the deceased was implementing?”

“It has no
status, Lieutenant.” He lifted his hands, let them fall. “I was duped. It
wasn't until after her death that I discovered there was no line, no other
backers, no product.”

“I see. You're
a successful producer, a money man. You must have asked her for a prospectus,
figures, expenses, projected earnings. Perhaps a sample of the products.”

“No.” His
mouth tightened as he looked down at his hands. “I did not.”

“You expect me
to believe that you just handed her money for a projected line you had no
information on?”

“It's
embarrassing.” He lifted his eyes again. “I have a reputation in the business,
and if this information gets out, that reputation would certainly suffer.”

“Lieutenant,”
the counselor interrupted. “My client's reputation is a valuable asset. This
asset will be damaged if this data goes beyond the parameters of this
investigation. I can and will secure a gag order on this portion of his
statement to protect his interests.”

“Go right
ahead. This is quite a story, Mr. Redford. Now, do you want to tell me why a
man with your reputation, your assets, would commit three hundred thousand
dollars to an investment that didn't exist?”

“Pandora was a
persuasive woman, a beautiful one. She was also clever. She skirted around my
request for projections and figures. I justified the continued payments because
I felt she was an expert in the field.”

“And you
didn't learn of her duplicity until after her death.”

“I made some
inquiries -- contacted her business agent, her representative.” He puffed out
his cheeks and nearly succeeded in looking sheepish. “No one knew anything
about the line.”

“When did you
make these inquiries?”

He hesitated
for a heartbeat. “This afternoon.”

“After our
interview? After I questioned you on the payments?”

“That's
correct. I wanted to insure there was no mix-up of any kind before I answered
your questions. On advice of counsel, I contacted Pandora's people and
discovered I'd been conned.”

“Your timing
is... very skillful. Do you have any hobbies, Mr. Redford?”

“Hobbies?”

“A man with
your type of high-pressure job, your... assets, must need some sort of release.
Stamp collecting, computer doodling, gardening.”

“Lieutenant,”
the counselor said with weariness. “The relevance?”

“I'm
interested in your client's leisure time. We've established how he spends his
business time. Perhaps you speculate on investments as a release valve.”

“No, Pandora
was my first mistake and will be my last. I don't have time for hobbies, or the
inclination for them.”

“I know what
you mean. I had someone tell me today that more people should plant petunias. I
can't imagine spending time digging in dirt and fussing with flowers. Not that
I don't like them. You like flowers?”

“They have
their place. That's why I have a staff to deal with them.”

“But you're a
licensed horticulturist.”

“I -- “

“You applied
for a license and were granted one three months ago. Just about the time you
made a payment to Jerry Fitzgerald in the amount of a hundred and twenty-five thousand.
And two days before, you placed an order for an Immortal Blossom from the Eden
Colony.”

“My client's
interest in flora has no relevance in this matter.”

“It has
plenty,” Eve shot back, “and this is an interview, not a trial. I don't need
relevance. Why did you want an Immortal?”

“I -- it was a
gift. For Pandora.”

“You went to
the considerable time, trouble, and expense to secure a license, then purchased
a controlled species at considerably more expense, as a gift for a woman you
occasionally had sex with. A woman who over the last eighteen months bled you
for over three hundred thousand dollars.”

“That was an
investment. This was a gift.”

“This is
bullshit. Save your objections, Counselor, they're duly noted. Where's the
flower now?”

“In New L. A.”

“Officer
Peabody, arrange to confiscate.”

“Now, just a
damn minute.” Redford scraped back his chair. “That's my property, paid for.”

“You falsified
data on your license. You illegally purchased a controlled species. It will be
confiscated, and you will be charged appropriately. Peabody?”

“Yes, sir.”
Smothering a smirk, Peabody took out her communicator and made the contact.

“This is
obvious harassment.” The counselor scowled. “And these petty charges are
ridiculous.”

“Oh, I'm just
getting started. You knew about the Immortal Blossom, knew it was a necessary
element to create the drug. Pandora was going to make big money on that drug.
Was she trying to cut you out?”

“I don't know
what you're talking about.”

“Did she turn
you on to it, give you enough tastes to addict? Maybe she held it back then,
until you wanted to beg for it. Until you wanted to kill her.”

“I never
touched it,” Redford exploded.

“But you knew
about it. You knew she had it. And there were ways of getting more. Did you
decide to cut her out instead? Bring Jerry in? You bought the plant. We'll find
out if you had the substance analyzed. With the plant, you could manufacture
your own. You wouldn't need her. You couldn't control her, either, could you?
She'd want more money, more of the drug. You found out it was fatal, but why
wait five years? With her out of the way, you'd have a clear field.”

“I didn't kill
her. I was through with her, I had no reason to kill her.”

“You went to
her house that night. You went to bed with her. She had the drug. Did she taunt
you with it? You'd already killed twice to protect yourself and your
investment, but she was still in the way.”

“I killed no
one.”

She let him
shout, let the counselor spout his objections and threats. “Did you follow her
to Leonardo's that night, or did you take her?”

“I was never
there. I never touched her. If I was going to kill her, I'd have done it in her
own house when she threatened me.”

“Paul -- “

“Shut up, just
shut up,” Redford spat at his counsel. “She's trying to pin murder on me, for
Christ's sake. I argued with her. She wanted more money, a lot more money. She
made sure I saw her supply of the drug, how much she had at her personal
disposal. It was worth a fortune. But I'd already had it analyzed. I didn't
need her, and I told her so. I had Jerry to endorse the line when it was ready.
She was furious, threatened to ruin me, to kill me. It gave me great pleasure
to walk out on her.”

“You planned
to manufacture and distribute the illegal yourself?”

“As a
topical,” he said, dabbing his mouth with the back of his hand. “Once it was
ready. It was irresistible. The money. Her threats meant nothing, do you
understand? She couldn't ruin me without ruining herself. And that, she would
never do. I was finished with her. And when I heard she was dead, I opened a
bottle of champagne and toasted her killer.”

“Very nice.
Now let's start again.”

After Eve
turned Redford over to booking, she stepped into the commander's office.

“Excellent
work, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you,
sir. I'd rather be booking him for murder than drug charges.”

“That may
come.”

“I'm counting
on it. Prosecutor.”

“Lieutenant.”
He'd risen when she'd come in, and continued to stand. His manners were well
known in and out of the courtroom. Even when he went in for the kill, he did so
with panache. “I admire your interview techniques. I'd love to have you on the
witness stand in this matter, but I don't believe it will come to trial. Mr.
Redford's attorney has already contacted my office. We'll negotiate.”

“And on the
murder?”

“We don't have
enough to tie him. No physical evidence,” he went on before she could protest.
“And motive... you've proven he had the means to his end before her death. It's
still more than possible that he's guilty, but we have quite a bit more work to
do to justify charges.”

“You justified
charging Mavis Freestone.”

“On
overwhelming evidence,” he reminded her.

“You know she
didn't do it, Prosecutor. You know that the three victims in this matter are
tied together.” She looked toward Casto who lounged in a chair. “Illegals knows
it.”

“I have to go
with the lieutenant on this,” Casto drawled. “We've investigated the aspect of
Freestone being involved with the substance known as Immortality, found no
connection between her and the drug or either of the other victims. She had
some splotches on her record, but they're old, and minor. You ask me, the lady
was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He offered Eve a smile. “I have to
throw my weight with Dallas and recommend the charges against Mavis Freestone
be dropped pending further investigation.”

“Your
recommendation is noted, Lieutenant,” the prosecutor said. “The prosecutor's
office will take it into consideration as we review all current data. At this
point, our belief that these three homicides are linked still falls short of
solid proof. Our office is, however, willing to agree to Ms. Freestone's
representative's recent request for testing, re truth detection, auto hypnosis,
and VR recreation. The results will weigh heavily in our decision.”

Eve let out a
long, slow breath. It was a concession, and a big one. “Thank you.”

“We're on the
same team, Lieutenant. And now we'd all best keep that in mind and coordinate
our stand before this press conference.”

As they
prepped, Eve moved over to Casto. “I appreciate what you did.”

He shrugged it
off. “It was my professional opinion. I hope it helps your friend. Ask me,
Redford's guilty as homemade sin. Either he whacked them himself or paid to
have it done.”

She wanted to
latch onto that, but shook her head slowly. “Professional hits. Seems sloppy
for pros, too personal. Still, thanks for adding the weight.”

“You can
consider it payback if you want for handing me one of the biggest illegals
cases of the decade. Once we clean it up and go public with the Immortality
drug and the busts, I'm going to get me a set of captain's bars.”

“Then
congratulations in advance.”

“I'd say that
goes for both of us. You're going to nail down these homicides, Eve, then we'll
both be sitting pretty.”

“I'll nail
them down all right.” She lifted a brow when he brushed a hand over her hair.

“I like it.”
With a quick smile he tucked his hands in his pockets. “You damned sure you
gotta get married?”

Angling her
head, she smiled back. “I hear you're having dinner with Peabody.”

“She's a
jewel, all right. I've got a weakness for strong women, Eve, and you'll have to
forgive me if I'm a little disappointed in the timing here.”

“Why don't I
try to be flattered instead?” She caught Whitney's signal and sighed. “Oh hell,
here we go.”

“Makes you
feel like a big meaty bone, don't it?” Casto murmured as the doors opened to a
horde of reporters.

-=O=-***-=O=-

They got
through it, and Eve would have considered it a good day's work if Nadine hadn't
ambushed her in the underground lot.

“This area's
off limits to unauthorized personnel.”

“Give me a
break, Dallas.” Still lounging on the hood of Eve's car, Nadine grinned. “How
about a lift?”

“Channel 75's
out of my way.” When Nadine only continued to smile, Eve swore and uncoded the
doors. “Get in.”

“You look
good,” Nadine said casually. “Who's the stylist?”

“Friend of a
friend. I'm tired of talking about my hair, Nadine.”

“Okay, let's
talk about murder, drugs, and money.”

“I just spent
forty-five minutes talking about that.” Eve flashed her badge at the security
camera and bumped out to the street. “I believe you were there.”

“What I saw
was a lot of dancing and dodging. What's that squeaking noise?”

“My well-tuned
vehicle.”

“Oh yeah, you
got hit with budget cuts again, didn't you? Damn shame. Anyway, what's this
business about a new line of inquiry?”

“I'm not at
liberty to discuss that aspect of the ongoing investigation.”

“Uh-huh.
What's this buzz about Paul Redford?”

“Redford has,
as stated in the press conference, been charged with fraud, possessing a
controlled specimen, and intent to manufacture and distribute an illegal.”

“And where
does that tie to Pandora's murder?”

“I'm not at
liberty to -- “

“All right,
shit.” Nadine flopped back in the seat, scowled at the traffic clogging the
roadway. “How about a trade?”

“Maybe. You
first.”

“I want an
exclusive interview with Mavis Freestone.”

Eve didn't
bother to answer. She just snorted.

“Come on,
Dallas, let her tell her side of it to the public.”

“Screw the
public.”

“Can I quote
you? You and Roarke have her surrounded. Nobody can get to her. You know I'll
be fair.”

“Yeah, we have
her surrounded. No, no one can or will get to her. And you'd probably be fair,
but she's not talking to the media.”

“Is that her
decision, or yours?”

“Back off,
Nadine, unless you want to try public transportation from here.”

“Just relay my
request. That's all I'm asking, Dallas. Just let her know I'm interested in
letting her tell her story on air.”

“Fine, now
change the channel.”

“All right. I
got an interesting little tidbit from the gossip station anchor this
afternoon.”

“And you know
how I live to hear the details of the lives of the rich and ridiculous.”

“Dallas, face
it, you're about to become one of them.” At Eve's furious grimace, Nadine
laughed. “Christ, I love needling you. It's so easy. Anyway, word is that the
hot couple of the last couple months is split city.”

“I'm agog.”

“You may be
when I tell you that hot couple consists of Jerry Fitzgerald and Justin Young.”

Eve's interest
level rose enough to have her reconsidering swinging into a bus stop and
ditching her passenger. “Do tell.”

“There was a
very public scene today at the rehearsal for Leonardo's showing. Apparently our
lovebirds got physical. Blows were exchanged.”

“They hit each
other?”

“More than
love taps, according to my source. Jerry retired to her dressing room. She has
the star's dressing room now, by the way, and Justin left in a huff and with a
puffy eye. A few hours later, he was in Maui, partying with another blonde. Also
a model. A younger model.”

“What were
they fighting about?”

“No one's
sure. Sex is thought to have reared its ugly head. She accused him of cheating
on her, he did the same. She wasn't going to stand for it. Neither was he. She
didn't need him anymore, he didn't need her right back.”

“That's
interesting, Nadine, but it doesn't mean anything.” But the timing, Eve
thought. Oh, the timing.

“Maybe it
does, maybe it doesn't. But it's funny, people in the public eye like that,
both of them media personalities losing it in front of an audience. I'd have to
say they were pretty wired up or putting on a hell of a show.”

“Like I said,
it's interesting.” Eve pulled up at the security gates of Channel 75. “This is
your stop.”

“You could
take me to the door.”

“Take a tram,
Nadine.”

“Listen, you
know you're going to look into what I just told you, so how about matching some
data. Dallas, you and I have a history here.”

That was true
enough. “Nadine, things are balanced on a very thin line right now. I can't
afford to tip it.”

“I won't go on
air with anything until you give me the go ahead.”

Eve hesitated,
then shook her head. “I can't. Mavis is too important to me. Until she's in the
clear, solid, I can't risk it.”

“Is she
heading toward the clear? Come on, Dallas.”

“Off the
record, the prosecutor's office is reconsidering the charges. But they're not
dropping them, not yet.”

“Have you got
another suspect? Redford? Is he your new prime?”

“Don't push me
on this, Nadine. You're almost a friend.”

“Hell. Let's
do this. If anything I've told you, or pass on later regarding this adds to
your case, you pay back.”

“I'll feed
you, Nadine, as soon as it's cleared.”

“I want a
one-on-one with you, ten minutes before any info hits the media.”

Eve leaned
over, opened Nadine's door. “See you.”

“Five minutes.
Goddamn it, Dallas. Five lousy minutes.” Which meant, Eve knew, hundreds of
ratings points and thousands of dollars.

“I can do five
-- if and when. I can't promise you more.”

“It'll be
when.” Satisfied, Nadine got out, then leaned on the door. “You know, Dallas,
you just don't miss. It'll be when. You've got a knack for the dead and the
innocent.”

The dead
and the innocent, Eve thought with a
shudder as she drove away. She knew that too many of the dead were the guilty.

-=O=-***-=O=-

There was
moonlight drizzling through the sky window over the bed when Roarke shifted
away from Eve. It was a new experience for him, the nerves before, during,
after lovemaking. There were dozens of reasons, or so he told himself as she
curled against him, as was her habit. The house was full of people. Leonardo's
motley team had taken over an entire wing with their mania. He had several
projects and deals at varying stages of development, business he was determined
to close before the wedding.

There was the
wedding itself. Surely a man was entitled to be a bit distracted at such a
time.

But he was, at
least with himself, a brutally honest man. There was only one reason for the
nerves. That was the image that continually leapt into his mind of Eve, battered
and bloodied and broken.

And the terror
that by touching her he might bring it all back, turn something beautiful into
the beastly.

Beside him she
stirred, then pushed herself up to look down at him. Her face was still
flushed, her eyes dark. “I don't know what I'm supposed to say to you.”

He trailed a
finger along her jaw. “About?”

“I'm not
fragile. There's no reason for you to treat me as if I'm wounded.”

His brows drew
together, the annoyance self-directed. He hadn't realized he was that
transparent, even with her. And the sensation didn't sit well. “I don't know
what you mean.” He started to get up, with the idea of pouring a drink he
didn't want, but she took a firm grip on his arm.

“Avoidance
isn't your usual style, Roarke.” It worried her. “If your feelings have changed
because of what I did, what I remembered -- “

“Don't be
insulting.” He snapped it out, and the temper kindling in his eyes was a great
relief to her.

“What am I
supposed to think? This is the first time you've touched me since that night.
It was more like nursing than -- “

“You have a
problem with tenderness?”

He was clever,
she thought. Calm or aroused, he knew how to turn things to his own favor. She
kept her hand on his arm, her eyes level with his. “Do you think I can't tell
you're holding back? I don't want you to hold back. I'm fine.”

“I'm not.” He
jerked his arm free. “I'm not. Some of us are a little more human, need a
little more time. Leave it alone.”

His words were
a sharp slap on a naked cheek. She nodded once, slid down into bed, and turned
away from him. “All right. But what happened to me when I was a child wasn't
sex. It was an obscenity.” She closed her eyes tight and willed herself to
sleep.

*** CHAPTER SIXTEEN ***

When her 'link
beeped, it was barely dawn. Eyes still closed, Eve reached out. “Block video.
Dallas.”

“Dallas,
Lieutenant Eve. Dispatch. Probable homicide, male, rear of 19 One hundred
eighth Street. Proceed immediately.”

Nerves churned
in Eve's stomach. She wasn't on rotation, shouldn't have been called. “Cause of
death?”

“Apparent
beating. Victim not yet identified due to facial injuries.”

“Acknowledged.
Goddamn it.” She threw her legs over the side of the bed and blinked when she
saw Roarke was already up and getting dressed. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to
a murder scene.”

“You're a
civilian. You don't have any business at a murder scene.”

He merely shot
her a look as she tugged on jeans. “Your vehicle is in repair, Lieutenant.” He
had some small satisfaction of hearing her mutter oaths as she remembered.
“I'll drive you. Drop you,” he qualified. “On my way to the office.”

“Suit
yourself.” She shrugged on her weapon harness.

-=O=-***-=O=-

It was a
miserable neighborhood. Several buildings were decorated with vicious graffiti,
broken glass, and the tattered signs the city used to condemn them. Of course,
people still lived in them, huddled in filthy rooms, avoiding the patrols,
blissing out on whatever substance offered the most kick.

There were
neighborhoods like it all over the world, Roarke thought as he stood in the
thin sunlight behind the police barricade. He had grown up in one not so
different, though it had been three thousand miles across the Atlantic.

He understood
the life here, the despair, the deals, just as he understood the violence that
had led to the result Eve was even now examining.

As he watched
her, along with the derelicts, the sleepy street whores, the miserably curious,
he realized he understood her as well.

Her movements
were brisk, her face impassive. But there was pity in her eyes as they studied
what had once been a man. She was, he thought, capable, strong, and resilient.
Whatever wounds she had, she would live with. She didn't need him to heal, but
to accept.

“Not your
usual milieu, Roarke.”

Roarke glanced
down as Feeney stepped up beside him. “I've been to worse.”

“Haven't we
all.” Feeney sighed and took a wrapped Danish out of his pocket. “Breakfast?”

“I'll pass.
You go ahead.”

Feeney downed
the pastry in three whopping bites. “Better go see what our girl's up to.” He
walked through the barricade, tapping his chest where his badge was fixed to
settle the nervous uniforms guarding the scene.

“Lucky the
media hasn't come in yet,” he commented.

Eve flicked a
glance up. “Not much interest in a murder in this neighborhood -- at least not
until the how leaks.” Her clear-coated hands were already smeared with blood as
she knelt beside the body. “Got the pictures?” At the nod from the video tech,
she slid her hands under the body. “Let's turn him over, Feeney.”

He'd fallen,
or had been left facedown, and had leaked a great deal of blood and brains from
the fist-sized hole in the back of his head. The flip side wasn't any prettier.

“No ID,” Eve
reported. “Peabody's inside the building doing door to door, see if we can come
up with anyone who knows him or saw anything.”

Feeney shifted
his gaze to the rear of the building. There were a couple of windows, filthy
glass heavily grilled. He skimmed the concrete yard where they crouched. There
was a recycler, broken, a grab bag of garbage, junk, rusted metal.

“Not much of a
view,” he commented. “We tag him yet?”

“I took
prints. One of the uniforms is running them now. Weapon's already bagged. Iron
pipe tossed under the recycler.” Eyes narrowed, she studied the body. “He
didn't leave a weapon with Boomer or Hetta Moppett. It's obvious why he left
one at Leonardo's. Now he's playing with us, Feeney, tossing it where a blind
frog would hop to it. What do you make of this guy?” She snapped a finger under
a wide, neon-pink suspender.

Feeney
grunted. The corpse was decked out in full fashion. Pegged knee shorts in
rainbow stripes, moon glow T-shirt, expensive beaded sandals.

“Had money to
waste on bad clothes.” Feeney studied the building again. “If he lived here, he
wasn't putting it into real estate.”

“Dealer,” Eve
decided. “Midlevel. You live here because your business is here.” She rose,
smearing blood from her hands onto her jeans, as a uniform approached.

“Got a match,
Lieutenant. Victim is ID'd as Lament Ro, aka Cockroach. He's got a long sheet.
Mostly under Illegals. Possession, manufacturing with intent, a couple of
assaults.”

“Anybody use
him? He weasel for anyone?”

“That data
didn't come up.”

She glanced at
Feeney who acknowledged the silent request with a grunt. He'd dig and find out.
“Okay, let's bag him and ship him. I want a tox report. Let the sweepers in
here.”

Her gaze
skimmed the scene again and landed on Roarke. “I need a ride, Feeney.”

“Can do.”

“I'll just be
a minute.” She headed to the barricade. “I thought you were going to the
office.”

“I am. Are you
done here?”

“A few more
things. I can catch a ride with Feeney.”

“You're
looking for the same murderer here.”

She started to
tell him that was police business, then shrugged. The media would have its
greedy hands on it within the hour. “Seeing as his face has been turned into
jelly, it's a pretty good bet. I've got to -- “

She whirled
around at the screams. Long, screeching wails that could have drilled holes in
steel. She saw the woman, big, naked but for a pair of red panties, burst out
of the building. She mowed over two uniforms who'd been sipping coffee, bowled
them down like duckpins and streaked toward what was left of Cockroach.

“Oh, fucking
A,” Eve muttered and raced to intercept. Less than a yard from the body, she
leaped and took the woman down in a flying tackle that had them both making
painful acquaintance with the concrete.

“That's my
man.” The woman flopped like a two-hundred-pound fish, beat at Eve with meaty
hands. “That's my man, you cop bitch.”

In the
interest of order, of preserving the scene, and of self-preservation, Eve
brought her fist up hard under the woman's pudgy jaw.

“Lieutenant.
You all right, Lieutenant?” Both uniforms reached down to help Eve off the
unconscious woman. “Jesus, she came out of nowhere. Sorry -- “

“Sorry?”
Jerking away, Eve scalded them both. “Sorry? You miserable brain-dead assholes.
Another two seconds, and she'd have contaminated the scene. Next time you're
assigned to something bigger than traffic detail, you keep your stupid hands
off your dicks. Now, see if you can manage to call the MTs and have them take a
look at that idiot woman. Then you get her some clothes and take her into
holding. Can you handle that?”

She didn't
bother to wait for an answer but started limping off. Her jeans were torn, her
own blood mixing with the dead man's, and her eyes were still flashing when
they met Roarke's. “What the hell are you grinning at?”

“It's always a
delight to watch you work, Lieutenant.” Abruptly, he caught her face in his
hands and crushed his mouth to hers in a kiss potent enough to stagger her back
on her heels. “No holding back,” he said as she blinked at him. “Have the MT's
take a look at you, too.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

It was several
hours later when she received the summons to Whitney's office. With Peabody
beside her, Eve took the sky-walk.

“I'm sorry,
Dallas. She shouldn't have gotten past me.”

“Jesus,
Peabody, let it go. You were in another part of the building when she made her
run.”

“I should have
realized one of the other tenants would inform her.”

“Yeah, we all
need to keep our crystal ball polished. Look, the upshot is, she didn't do any
more than put another couple dents in me. Casto call in yet?”

“He's still in
the field.”

“Is he still
in your fields?”

Peabody's
mouth twitched. “We were together last night. We were just going to have
dinner, but one thing led to another. I swear, I haven't slept like that since
I was a kid. Who knew great sex was such a terrific soother.”

“I could have
told you.”

“Anyway, he
got a call just after mine came in. My take is, he'll know who the victim is,
maybe be able to help.”

Eve grunted.
They weren't kept waiting in Whitney's outer office, but shown straight in. He
pointed to chairs. “Lieutenant, I realize your written report is on the way,
but I prefer a verbal rundown on this latest homicide.”

“Yes, sir.”
She relayed the address and description of the murder scene, the name and
description of the victim, along with details of the weapon found, the wounds,
the ME's determination of time of death. “Peabody's initial door to door didn't
turn up anything useful, but we will follow that up with a second pass. The
woman who was living with the victim was of some help.”

Whitney lifted
his brows. Eve was still wearing her stained shirt and torn jeans. “I'm told
you had a bit of trouble there.”

“Nothing to
speak of.” Eve had already decided the tongue lashing she'd given would do.
There was no need to layer on punishment with official reprimands. “She's a
former licensed street companion. Didn't have the credits to renew. She's also
a user. By applying a little pressure in that area, we were able to get her to
tell us something of the victim's movements last night. According to her
statement, they were together in the apartment until about oh one hundred.
They'd had some wine and a little Exotica. He claimed he had to go, had a deal
to close. She took some Download, passed out. As the ME puts the time of death
at approximately oh two hundred in his prelim, it jibes.

“Evidence
indicates the victim was killed where he was found early this morning. It also
strongly indicates that the victim was taken out by the same person who killed
Moppett, Boomer, and Pandora.”

She took time
for a breath and continued to speak formally. “Mavis Freestone's movements
during the time of this murder can be accounted for by the primary and others.”

Whitney said
nothing for a moment, but kept his eyes on Eve's face. “This office does not
believe that Mavis Freestone is in any way connected with this murder, nor does
the office of the prosecuting attorney. I have Dr. Mira's preliminary analysis
of Ms. Freestone's testing.”

“Testing?”
Formality forgotten, Eve sprang up. “What do you mean her testing? That wasn't
scheduled until Monday.”

“It was
rescheduled,” Whitney said calmly. “And has been completed as of thirteen
hundred hours.”

“Why wasn't I
informed?” Uncomfortable memories of her own experiences with Testing roiled in
her stomach. “I should have been there.”

“It was in the
best interest of all parties involved that you were not.” He held up a hand.
“Before you lose your temper and risk insubordination, let me tell you that Dr.
Mira clearly states in her report that Ms. Freestone passed all testing. The
truth detector indicates her veracity in her statements. As to the other
elements, Dr. Mira feels that the subject is highly unlikely to have exhibited
the extreme violence with which Pandora was killed. Leaving out the
hundred-credit words, Dr. Mira recommends the charges against Ms. Freestone be
dropped.”

“Dropped.” The
backs of Eve's eyes burned as she sat again. “When?”

“The
prosecutor's office is taking Dr. Mira's report under advisement. Unofficially,
I can tell you that unless other data come to light that disproves her
analysis, the charges will be withdrawn on Monday.” He watched Eve block most
of a shudder, approved her control. “The physical evidence is strong, but
outweighed at this point by Mira's report and the evidence gathered in the
investigation of the allegedly connected deaths.”

“Thank you.”

“I didn't
clear her, Dallas, nor have you, but you've come damn close. Get the bastard,
and soon.”

“I intend to.”
Her communicator beeped. She waited for Whitney's nod before she answered.
“Dallas.”

“Got your damn
rush order.” Dickie scowled at her. “Like I got nothing else to do.”

“Whine later.
What have we got?”

“Your latest
corpse had a nice ride on Immortality before he bought it. Just before, is my
guess. Don't think he had time to enjoy it.”

“Transmit the
report to my office,” she said and cut him off before he could complain. She
was smiling as she rose this time. “I have this thing I have to go to tonight,
and I think I might be able to tie a few things up.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

Chaos, panic,
and tattered nerves seemed to be as much a part of a high-fashion runway show
as needle-thin models and glitzy fabrics. It was intriguing and amusing to
watch the players assume their roles. The pouty-lipped mannequin who found
fault with every accessory, the rabbit-paced dresser who wore glinting needles
and pins in a tuft of her hair, the stylist who swept down on models like a
soldier pumped for battle, and the hapless creator of all the glitz who stood
by amid the swirl, wringing his huge hands.

“We're running
behind. We're running behind. I need Lissa out in the cotton swirler in two
minutes. The music's on pace, but we're running behind.”

“She'll be
there. Jesus, Leonardo, get a grip.”

It took Eve a
moment to recognize the stylist. Trina's hair was in sharp ebony spikes that
could gouge an eye at three paces. But the voice gave her away, and Eve
watched, letting herself be elbowed back by another frantic dresser as Trina
glopped something that looked distressingly like come onto a streaked mane
before squishing it into a smooth cone shape.

“What are you
doing there?” A man with owl eyes and a knee-length cape bore down on Eve like
a snapping terrier. “Get out of those clothes, for God's sake. Don't you know
Hugo's out front?”

“Who's Hugo?”

The man made a
sound like escaping gas and reached out to tug off Eve's T-shirt.

“Hey, buddy,
you want to keep those fingers?” She smacked them away and glowered at him.

“Get naked,
get naked. We're running out of time.”

Threats made
no dent and he snatched at the snap of her jeans. She considered decking him,
then pulled out her shield instead. “You can back off, or I can haul your ass
in for assaulting an officer.”

“What are you
doing here? We have our license. We paid our revenue. Leonardo, there's a cop
here. I simply can't be expected to deal with police.”

“Dallas.”
Mavis hurried over, varicolored fabric draped over her arm. “You're really in
the way here. Why aren't you out front? Christ, why are you still dressed like
that?”

“I didn't have
time to go back and change.” Absently Eve tugged at her stained shirt. “Are you
all right? I didn't know they'd rescheduled your tests, or I'd have been
there.”

“I got through
it. Dr. Mira was mag, but let's just say I'm glad it's over. I don't want to
talk about it,” she said quickly, and looked around the disordered and crowded
space. “At least not now.”

“Okay. I want
to see Jerry Fitzgerald.”

“Now? The
show's already started. It's timed down to the last microsecond.” With the
skill of a veteran, Mavis swayed out of the path of a pair of long-legged
models. “She has to concentrate, Dallas. This pace is murder.” Cocking her
head, she tuned into the music. “Her next cue is in less than four minutes.”

“Then I won't
keep her long. Where?”

“Dallas,
Leonardo is -- “

“Where,
Mavis?”

“Back there.”
Waving one frantic hand, she turned over one layer of fabric to a passing
dresser. “In the star's room.”

Eve managed to
dodge, shift, and spin her way through the milling crowd to a door marked
prominently with Jerry's name. She didn't bother to knock but pushed it open
and saw the woman in question being squeezed into a gold lame tube.

“I'm not going
to be able to breathe in this. A skeleton couldn't breathe in this.”

“You shouldn't
have eaten that pate, dearie,” the dresser said implacably. “Just suck it in.”

“An
interesting look,” Eve commented from the doorway. “Makes you look like a fairy
wand.”

“It's one of
his retro shots. Early twentieth-century glamour. I can't fucking move.”

Eve came
closer, narrowed her eyes at Jerry's face. “The cosmetician did a nice job. I
can't see any bruises.” And she would check with Trina to see if there'd been
any bruises to cover. “I heard Justin Young gave you a couple of shots.”

“Bastard.
Hitting me in the face before a big show.”

“I'd say he
pulled his punch. What did you fight about, Jerry?”

“He thought he
could diddle with some little chorus dancer. Not on my time.”

“Time's the
interesting factor, isn't it? When did he start his diddling?”

“Listen,
Lieutenant, I'm a little pressed here, and walking out on the runway with a
scowl on my face is going to ruin the presentation. Let's just say, Justin's
history.”

Despite her
claims to the contrary, Jerry moved with quick agility through the door. Eve
stayed where she was, listening to the burst of applause as Jerry made her
entrance. In six minutes flat, she was back being peeled out of the gold lame.

“How'd you
find out about it?”

“Trina. Hair,
for God's sake! Christ, you're persistent. I got wind of it, that's all. And
when I called him on it, he denied it. But I could tell he was lying.”

“Uh-huh.” Eve
considered liars as Jerry stood, arms out. Trina transformed her ebony swing of
hair into a complicated twist of curls with a hand-held heater. Sheer white
silk with rainbow trimming was slipped over her arms. “He didn't stay in Maui
long.”

“I don't give
a shit where he is.”

“He flew back
to New York last night. I checked the shuttles. You know, Jerry, it's odd. That
timing thing again. Last time I saw you two, you were all but joined at the
hip. You went with him to Pandora's, went home with him that night. You were
still there in the morning. The word I get is he accompanied you to your
fittings, rehearsals. Doesn't seem like he'd have much time to boff a chorus
dancer.”

“Some men work
fast.” She offered a hand so the dresser could clasp on a half dozen jangling
bracelets.

“A public
fight, plenty of witnesses, even some handy media coverage. You know, on the
face of things, it makes your dual alibis hold more water. If I was the kind of
cop to believe in the face of things.”

Jerry turned
to the mirror to check the line of her costume. “What do you want, Dallas? I'm
working here.”

“Me, too. Let
me tell you how I see it, Jerry. You and your pal had a little deal going with
Pandora. But she's greedy. It looks like she's going to screw you and your
partners. A handy thing happens. Mavis comes in, there's a fight. For a sharp woman
like you, that could spark an idea.”

Jerry picked
up a glass, knocked back the sparkling sapphire contents. “You've already got
two suspects, Dallas. Who's being greedy now?”

“Did the three
of you discuss it? You, Justin, and Redford? You and Justin go off and solidify
an alibi. Redford doesn't. Maybe he's not as smart. Maybe you were supposed to
back him up, too, but you didn't. He takes her to Leonardo's. You're waiting.
Did things get out of hand then? Which one of you picked up the cane?”

“This is ludicrous.
Justin and I were at his place. Security verifies that. If you want to accuse
me of something, bring a warrant. Until then, back off.”

“Were you and
Justin smart enough not to contact each other since the fight? I don't think
he's got your control, Jerry. In fact, I'm banking on it. We'll have the
transmission records by morning.”

“So what if he
called me? So what?” Jerry raced to the doorway as Eve strolled away. “It
doesn't prove anything. You've got nothing.”

“I've got
another dead body.” Eve paused, looked back. “I don't suppose either one of you
are going to alibi each other for last night, are you?”

“Bitch.”
Incensed, Jerry heaved the glass, catching a hapless dresser in the shoulder.
“You're not hanging anything on me. You've got nothing.”

As the noise
and confusion of backstage rose to a new level, Mavis shut her eyes. “Oh,
Dallas. How could you? Leonardo needs her for ten more changes.”

“She'll do her
job. She wants the spotlight too much not to. I'm going to find Roarke.”

“He's out
front,” Mavis said wearily as Leonardo rushed over to soothe his star. “Don't
go out there looking like that. Put this on. It's already been run. Without the
overdress and the scarves, no one will recognize it.”

“I'm just
going to -- “

“Please. It
would mean a lot if you were wearing one of his designs out front. It's a
simple line, Dallas. And I'll find some shoes that fit you somewhere.”

Fifteen
minutes later, with her torn clothes stuffed in her bag, Eve spotted Roarke in
the front row. He was applauding politely as a trio of large-breasted models
jiggled wildly in transparent rompers.

“Great. Just
what we want to see women wearing when they walk down Fifth.”

Roarke lifted
a shoulder. “Actually, a great many of his designs are very attractive. And I
wouldn't mind seeing you in that number on the right.”

“Keep
dreaming.” She crossed her legs and the flow of black satin over them whispered
in response. “How long do we have to stay?”

“Until the
bitter end. When did you buy this?” He ran a fingertip over the narrow straps
draped over her biceps.

“I didn't.
Mavis made me put it on. It's one of his without the frills.”

“Keep it. It
suits you.”

She only
grunted. Her torn jeans suited her mood a great deal better. “Ah, here comes
the diva.”

Jerry glided
out, and at each step of her dainty glass shoes, the runway exploded into
color. Eve paid little attention to the billowing balloon skirt and sheer
bodice that caused such a furor of approval from the attendees. She watched
Jerry's face, and only her face as fashion critics murmured busily into their
recorders and dozens of buyers ordered frantically from their porta-links.

Jerry's face
was serene as she waved aside dozens of muscular young men who prostrated
themselves in front of her. She sold the outfit with graceful twists and turns
and clever choreography that had her stepping nimbly onto a pyramid of hard
male bodies.

The crowd
applauded. Jerry posed, then aimed icy blue eyes at Eve.

“Ouch,” Roarke
murmured. “I'd say that was a direct hit. Is there something I should know?”

“She'd like to
rip my face off,” Eve said mildly. “My mission has been a success.” Satisfied,
she sat back and prepared to enjoy the rest of the show.

-=O=-***-=O=-

“Did you see?
Dallas, did you see?” After a quick pirouette, Mavis threw her arms around Eve.
“At the finale they actually stood up for him. Even Hugo.”

“Who the hell
is Hugo?”

“He's only the
biggest name in the business. He co-sponsored the show, but that was with
Pandora. If he'd pulled out -- well, he didn't, thanks to Jerry stepping in.
Leonardo's on his way. He can pay back his debts. The orders are already
pouring in. He'll have his own showroom now, and in a few months, there'll be
Leonardo's everywhere.”

“That's great
then.”

“Everything's
working out.” Mavis fussed with her face in the mirror of the ladies' lounge.
“I have to find another gig, and I'll wear his designs exclusively. Things are
going to go back to the way they should be. They are, aren't they, Dallas?”

“They're
heading that way. Mavis, did Leonardo go to Jerry Fitzgerald, or the other way
around?”

“For the show?
He went to her originally. Pandora suggested it.”

Wait, Eve
thought, how did I miss this step? “Pandora wanted him to ask Jerry to model in
his show?”

“It was just
like her.” On impulse, Mavis took out a tube and removed her lip dye. She
studied her naked mouth a moment, then chose a container of Berry Crush. “She
knew Jerry wouldn't play second lead, not to her, even though there was a lot
of good buzz about the designs. So asking her was a kind of dig, you know. She
could say yes, and take the backseat, or say no and miss being in one of the
hottest shows of the season.”

“And she said
no.”

“Made out like
she had previous commitments. Saving face. But the minute Pandora was out of
the picture, she called Leonardo and offered to fill in.”

“How much will
she make?”

“For the show?
She'll get about a mil, but that's nothing. The headliner gets to pick her
fashions at a wholesaler's discount, an endorsement fee for each wearing. Then
there's the media clause.”

“Which is?”

“Well, the big
models get it to go on the fashion channels, the talk channels and all that.
They get to pump up the designs and get paid for the appearances. Exposure and
big bucks for the next six months, with an option to renew. She could rake in
five, six mil plus bennies from this one appearance.”

“Nice work if
you can get it. She profits in excess of six million from Pandora's death.”

“You could
look at it that way. It's not as if she was hurting before, Dallas.”

“Maybe not.
But she sure as hell isn't hurting now. She'll put in an appearance at this postshowing
party?”

“Sure. She and
Leonardo are the stars. We'd better get out there if we want any food. Those
fashion critics are like hyenas. They don't even leave bones.”

“You've been
around Jerry and the others for a while now,” Eve began as they made their way
back to the ballroom. “Anybody using?”

“Jesus,
Dallas.” Uncomfortable, Mavis shrugged. “I'm not a weasel.”

“Mavis.” Eve
tugged her into an alcove resplendent with potted ferns. “Don't take that line
with me. Is anyone using?”

“Hell, sure,
there's some shit around. Poppers mostly, and a lot of Zero Appetite. It's a
tough business, and not all the low-tier models can afford body sculpting.
You've got a few illegals filtered through, but it's mostly over the counter.”

“Jerry?”

“She's into
health shit. That drink she guzzles. She smokes a little, but it's some special
blend for soothing nerves. I've never seen her use anything dicey. But...”

“But?”

“Well, she's
real territorial about her stuff, you know? Couple of days ago one of the other
girls wasn't feeling well. Dragging from a late night. She started to cop a
taste of Jerry's blue juice, and Jerry went nuts. Wanted to have her fired.”

“Interesting.
Wonder what's in it.”

“Some
vegetable extract. She claims it's made up for her metabolism. She made some
noise about going on the market with it, endorsing.”

“I need a
sample. I haven't got enough for a search or confiscation warrant.” She paused,
considered, smiled. “But I think I know how to fix that. Let's go party.”

“What are you
going to do? Dallas.” Doubling her pace, Mavis caught up with Eve's long
strides. “I don't like that look in your eye. Don't cause any trouble. Please,
come on. It's Leonardo's big night.”

“I bet a
little more media coverage will increase his sales.”

She stepped
into the ballroom where the crowd was gyrating on the dance floor or huddled
around the tables of food. Spotting Jerry, Eve started over. Roarke caught her
eye and crossed to her.

“Suddenly you
look like a cop.”

“Thanks.”

“I'm not sure
it was a compliment. Are you about to cause a scene?”

“I'm going to
do my best. Want to keep your distance?”

“Not on your
life.” Intrigued, he took her hand and walked with her.

“Congratulations
on a successful show,” Eve began, edging aside a fawning critic to stand face
to face with Jerry.

“Thank you.”
Jerry raised a glass of champagne. “But from what I've seen, you're not exactly
a fashion expert.” She sent Roarke a melting look. “Though you do appear to
have excellent taste in men.”

“Better than
yours. Did you hear Justin Young was spotted at the Privacy Club tonight with a
redhead? A redhead who bore a remarkable resemblance to Pandora.”

“You lying
bitch. He wouldn't -- “ Jerry caught herself, hissed gently through her teeth.
“I told you, I don't care who he sees or what he does.”

“Why would
you? It's true though, isn't it, that after a certain number of sessions, body
sculpting and facial enhancements don't completely fight reality. I suppose
Justin wanted a taste of youth. Men are such pigs.” Eve accepted a glass of
champagne from a roving waiter and took a sip. “Not that you don't look
wonderful. For your age. Those harsh stage lights just tend to make a woman
look... mature.”

“Fuck you.”
Jerry dashed the contents of her glass in Eve's face.

“Thought that
would do it,” Eve murmured as she blinked her stinging eyes. “That's assaulting
an officer. You're under arrest.”

“Take your
hands off me.” Incensed, Jerry shoved Eve back.

“Add resisting
arrest. This must be my lucky night.” In two quick moves, Eve had Jerry's arm
twisted up and behind her back. “We'll just call a uniform to take you in. It
shouldn't take you long to make bail. Now, behave so I can read you your rights
on the way out.” She shot Roarke a sunny smile. “I won't be long.”

“Take your
time, Lieutenant.” He plucked up Eve's champagne and drank it himself. He gave
her ten minutes, then wandered out of the ballroom.

She was
standing at the hotel entrance, watching Jerry being loaded into a cruiser.

“What was that
for?”

“I needed to
buy some time and some probable cause. The suspect showed violent tendencies
and a nervous manner, indicative of drug use.”

Cops, Roarke
thought. “You pissed her off, Eve.”

“That, too.
She'll be out almost before they get her in. I've got to move.”

“Where?” he
demanded as they hurried around the ballroom to the backstage area.

“I need a
sample of that stuff she likes to drink. The assault gives me clearance -- if
we bend things a little. I want it analyzed.”

“You honestly
think she's using illegals that blatantly?”

“I think
people like her -- like Pandora and Young and Redford -- are incredibly
arrogant. They've got money, looks, a certain amount of power and prestige. It
makes them feel above the law.” She sent him a look as she slipped into
Pandora's dressing room. “You have the same tendencies.”

“Thank you so
much.”

“Lucky for
you, I came along to keep you on the straight and narrow. Watch the door, will
you? If she's got a quick lawyer, I'm not going to have time to finish this.”

“The straight
and narrow, naturally,” Roarke commented and stationed himself at the door as
she searched the room.

“Christ,
there's a fortune in cosmetic enhancements.”

“It is her
business, Lieutenant.”

“Vanity's
costing her several hundred K a year, I'd say, just on the topicals. Christ
knows what she spends in ingestives and sculpting. If I could just find a
little of that nice powder.”

“You're
looking for Immortality?” He let out a laugh. “She may be arrogant, but she
doesn't look stupid.”

“Maybe you're
right.” She opened the door of a friggie and smiled. “But she's got a container
of that drink in here. A locked container.” Pursing her lips, Eve looked toward
Roarke. “I don't suppose you could...”

“Veer from the
straight and narrow.” He sighed, walked over, and studied the lock on the clear
bottle. “Sophisticated. She's not taking any chances with it. The bottle's
unbreakable from the look of it.” His fingers played over the lock mechanism as
he spoke. “Find me a nail file, a hair clip, something like that, will you?”

Eve pushed
through the drawers. “Will this do?”

Roarke frowned
at the tiny pair of manicure scissors. “Close enough.” He jiggled the lock with
the points, finessed, and stepped back. “There you are.”

“You're
awfully good at that.”

“Just a small,
insignificant talent, Lieutenant.”

“Right.” She
dug in her bag, pulled out an evidence holder. She filled it with a couple of
ounces. “That should be more than enough.”

“Would you
like me to relock it? It would only take a moment.”

“Don't bother.
We can swing by the lab on the way.”

“On the way
to?”

“To where I've
got Peabody staked out. Justin Young's back door.” She started out, flicking
him a smile. “You know, Roarke, Jerry was right about one thing. I have pretty
good taste in men.”

“Darling, your
taste is impeccable.”

*** CHAPTER SEVENTEEN ***

Being hooked
up with a rich man had a number of disadvantages in Eve's mind, but it had one
overwhelming plus. That was food. On the way back across town she managed to
stuff herself to bursting with chicken Kiev from the fully stocked AutoChef in
his car.

“Nobody has
chicken Kiev in their car unit,” she said with her mouth full.

“They do if
they run around with you. Otherwise you'd live off soy burgers and irradiated
powdered eggs.”

“I hate
irradiated powdered eggs.”

“Exactly.” It
pleased him to hear her chuckle. “You're in a rare old mood, Lieutenant.”

“It's coming
together, Roarke. They'll drop charges on Mavis by Monday morning, and by then
I'll have the bastards. It was all money,” she said and dabbed up grains of
wild rice with her fingers. “Fucking money. Pandora was the connection to
Immortality, and those three high flyers wanted their share.”

“So they lured
her to Leonardo's and killed her.”

“Leonardo's
was probably her idea. She wasn't letting go there, and she was revved to
fight. Gave them the perfect opportunity and setting. Mavis walking in was just
icing. They'd have left Leonardo hanging by his balls, otherwise.”

“Not to
question your quick, agile, and suspicious mind, but why not just whack her in
an alley? If you're right, they'd done it before.”

“So they
wanted some staging this time.” She moved her shoulders. “Hetta Moppett was a
potential loose end. One of them confronted her, likely questioned her, then
got rid of her. Better not to chance whatever Boomer had let slip during sex.”

“Then Boomer
came next.”

“He knew too
much, had too much. It's not likely he knew about all three of them. But he'd
nailed at least one, and when he spotted that one in the club, he went
underground. They managed to get him out, tortured him, killed him. But they
didn't have time to go back and get the stuff.”

“All for
profit?”

“For profit,
and if that analysis comes out the way I think it will, for Immortality.
Pandora was on it, no question. My take is that whatever Pandora had or wanted,
Jerry Fitzgerald wanted to have more. You've got a drug that makes you look
good, younger, sexier. It could be worth a fortune to her professionally. Not
to mention her ego.”

“But it's
lethal.”

“That's what
they say about smoking, but I've seen you light up some tobacco.” She arched a
brow at him. “Unprotected sex was lethal during the latter half of the
twentieth century. Didn't stop people from fucking strangers. Guns are lethal,
but we spent decades getting them off the street. Then -- “

“Point taken.
Most of us think we're going to live forever. Did you do testing on Redford?”

“We did. He's
clean. Doesn't mean his hands are any less bloody. I'm going to lock the three
of them away for the next fifty years.”

Roarke eased
the car to a stop at a light, turned to look at her. “Eve, are you after them
for murder, or for messing with the life of your friend?”

“The results
are the same.”

“Your feelings
aren't.”

“They hurt
her,” she said tightly. “They put her through hell. Forced me to help them put
her through it. She lost her job, and a lot of her confidence. They're going to
pay for that.”

“All right. I
only have one thing to say.”

“I don't need
criticisms on procedure from a guy who pops locks like you, pal.”

He took out a
handkerchief, dabbed at her chin. “The next time you start to say you have no
family,” he began quietly, “think again. Mavis is yours.”

She started to
speak, reevaluated. “I'm doing my job,” she decided. “If I get some personal
pleasure out of it, what's wrong with that?”

“Not a thing.”
He kissed her lightly, then turned left.

“I want to go
around the back of the building. Take a right at the next corner, then -- “

“I know how to
get around the back of that building.”

“Don't tell me
you own that one, too.”

“All right, I
won't tell you. And by the way, if you had asked me about the security setup at
Young's place, I could have saved you -- or I should say Feeney -- a little
time and trouble.” When she huffed, he smiled. “If I get some personal pleasure
out of owning large chunks of Manhattan, what's wrong with that?”

She turned to
stare out of the window so he couldn't see her smirk.

For Roarke, it
seemed, there would always be a table at the most exclusive restaurant, front
row seats at the current hit play, and a convenient parking place on the
street. He glided in and killed the engine.

“You don't, I
trust, expect me to wait here.”

“What I expect
doesn't usually hold water with you. Come on, but try to remember you're a
civilian. I'm not.”

“That's
something I never forget.” He code locked the car. It was a good neighborhood,
but the car was worth an easy six months' rent in even the most exclusive of
units in the building. “Darling, before we shift into the official mode, what
do you have on under that dress?”

“A device
designed to drive men wild.”

“It's working.
I don't believe I've ever seen your butt move quite that way.”

“It's a cop's
butt now, ace, so watch it.”

“I am.” He
smiled, gave it a nice solid smack. “Believe me. Good evening, Peabody.”

“Roarke.” Her
face bland, as if she hadn't heard a word, Peabody stepped out from the
shrubbery. “Dallas.”

“Any sign of
-- “ Eve went into a defensive crouch as the shrubbery rustled, then swore as
Casto came out grinning. “Goddamn it, Peabody.”

“Now, don't
blame DeeDee. I was with her when your call came in. She wouldn't have been
able to shake me. Interdepartmental cooperation, Eve?” Still smiling, he
extended a hand. “Roarke, a pleasure to meet you. Jake Casto, Illegals.”

“So I
gathered.” Roarke's brow cocked as he noted Casto take in the black satin that
slithered over Eve's body. In the manner of men or unfriendly male dogs, Roarke
showed his teeth.

“Nice dress,
Eve. You mentioned something about taking a sample to the lab.”

“Do you always
listen in on another cop's transmissions?”

“Well...” He
stroked his chin. “The call came through at a particular moment, you see. I'd
have had to be deaf not to catch it.” He sobered. “You figure you got Jerry
Fitzgerald with a dose of Immortality?”

“We'll have to
wait for the analysis.” She shifted her attention to Peabody. “Is Young in
there?”

“That's
confirmed. A check with security shows him coming in about nineteen hundred. He
hasn't been out since.”

“Unless he
took the back way.”

“No, sir.”
Peabody allowed herself a small smile. “I called his 'link when I arrived, and
he answered. I apologized for the wrong contact.”

“He's seen
you.”

Peabody shook
her head. “Men like that don't remember underlings. He didn't make me, and
there's been no movement in this area since my arrival at twenty-three
thirty-eight.” She gestured over, up. “His lights are on.”

“So we wait.
Casto, you could make yourself useful and stake out the front entrance.”

He flashed a
grin. “Trying to get rid of me?”

Her eyes lit
in response. “Yep. We could get technical. As primary on the Moppett,
Johannsen, Pandora, and Ro homicides, I have full authority on coordinating
investigations. Therefore -- “

“You're a
tough woman, Eve.” He sighed, shrugged, sent Peabody a wink. “Keep a light
burning for me, DeeDee.”

“I'm sorry,
Lieutenant,” Peabody began formally when Casto moved off. “He overheard the
transmission. As there was no way to prevent him from coming to the scene on
his own, it seemed more productive to enlist his aid.”

“It doesn't
seem to be a problem.” When her communicator beeped, she shifted aside.
“Dallas.” She listened a moment, lips curving, then nodded. “Thanks.” She
started to slip the unit into her pocket, then remembered she didn't have a
pocket, and dropped it into her bag. “Fitzgerald's sprung, own recognizance.
Not surprising she'd get OR over a little tussle at a fashion party.”

“If the lab
results fall,” Peabody said.

“If. We wait
on that.” She glanced at Roarke. “This could be a long night. You don't have to
hang. Peabody and Casto can drop me when we're done.”

“I like long
nights. A moment of your time, Lieutenant.” With a firm hand on her arm, Roarke
led her a few paces away. “You didn't mention you had an admirer in Illegals.”

She ran a hand
through her hair. “Didn't I?”

“The kind of
admirer who'd like to nibble his way up your extremities.”

“That's an
interesting way of putting it. Look, he and Peabody are an item at the moment.”

“That doesn't
stop him from licking his chops over you.”

She gave a
quick snorting laugh, then catching the look in Roarke's eye, she sobered and
cleared her throat. “He's harmless.”

“I don't think
so.”

“Come on,
Roarke, it's just one of those little testosterone games you guys play.” His
eyes were still gleaming and caused something to jitter, not unpleasantly, in
her stomach. “You're not, like, jealous?”

“Yes.” It was
demeaning to admit it, but he was a man who did what had to be done.

“Really?” The
jittery feeling turned into a nice warm spread of pleasure. “Well, thanks.”

There was no
point in sighing. Certainly no point in giving her a quick shake. Instead, he
dipped his hands in his pockets and inclined his head. “You're welcome. Eve,
we're going to be married in a few days.”

The jittering
started again, big time. “Yeah.”

“If he keeps
looking at you like that, I'm going to have to hurt him.”

She smiled,
patted his cheek. “Down, boy.”

Before she
could do more than chuckle, he'd snagged her wrist, leaned in close. “You
belong to me.” Her eyes fired, her teeth bared. The show of temper had him
relaxing immediately. “It goes both ways, darling, but in case you haven't
noticed, it seems only fair to tell you, I'm very territorial over what's
mine.” He kissed her snarling mouth. “I do love you, Eve. Ridiculously.”

“It's
ridiculous all right.” To settle her temper, she tried a long, slow breath.
“Look, not that I figure you deserve any explanation, but I'm not interested in
Casto, or anybody else. And, as it happens, Peabody's gone over him. So just
shut down your thrusters.”

“Done. Now,
would you like me to go back to the car and get some coffee?”

She angled her
head. “Is that a cheap bribe to smooth this over?”

“I'll remind
you that my blend of coffee isn't cheap.”

“Peabody takes
hers light. Hold it.” She grabbed his arm, tugged him back toward the bushes.
“Wait for it,” Eve murmured as a car shot down the street. It squealed to a
halt, did a fast vertical to squeeze into a top-level parking spot. Impatient
maneuvering knocked bumpers. A woman in shimmering silver strode down the ramp
to the sidewalk.

“There's our
girl,” Eve said quietly. “She didn't waste any time.”

“You called
it, Lieutenant,” Peabody commented.

“Looks like.
Now why would a woman who has recently gone through an uncomfortable,
inconvenient, and potentially embarrassing situation, run straight to a man
she's just broken up with, accused of cheating, and who popped her in the face?
All in public.”

“Sadomasochistic
tendencies?” Roarke suggested.

“I don't think
so,” Eve said, appreciating him. “It's S and M all right, but it stands for sex
and money. And lookie here, Peabody, our heroine knows the back way in.”

With one
careless glance over her shoulder, Jerry headed straight for the maintenance
entrance, keyed in a code, and disappeared inside.

“I'd say she's
done that before.” Roarke laid a hand on Eve's shoulder. “Is that enough to
break their alibi?”

“It's a damn
good start.” Reaching in her bag, she took out surveillance goggles. She
strapped them on, adjusting the power as she focused on Justin Young's windows.
“Can't see him,” she murmured. “No one's in the living area.” She shifted her
head. “Bedroom's empty, but there's a flight bag open on the bed. A lot of
doors closed. No way to get a view of the kitchen and rear entrance from here,
damn it.”

She put her
hands on her hips and kept scanning. “There's a glass of something on the table
by the bed, and a light playing. I'd say his bedroom screen's on. There she is
now.”

Eve's lips
stayed curved as she watched Jerry storm into the bedroom. The goggles were
powerful enough to give her a clear close-up of undiluted fury. Jerry's mouth
was moving. She reached down, plucked off her shoes, heaved them.

“Temper,
temper,” Eve murmured. “She's calling for him, throwing things. Enter the young
hero, stage left. Well, I've got to say, he's built.”

With her own
goggles in place, Peabody let out a low hum of agreement.

Justin was
buck naked, his skin beaded with water, his gilded hair sleeked with it.
Apparently Jerry was unimpressed. She raged at him, shoved while he held up his
hands, shook his head. The argument grew heated, dramatic, Eve mused, with lots
of arm gestures, tossing heads. Then it changed tones abruptly. Justin was
tearing off Jerry's ten-thousand-dollar silver gown as they fell on the bed.

“Aw, isn't
that sweet, Peabody? They're making up.”

Roarke tapped
Eve's shoulder. “I don't suppose you have another pair of them.”

“Pervert.” But
since it seemed only fair, she tugged the goggles off, handed them to him. “You
may be called as a witness.”

“How? I'm not
even here.” He slipped the goggles on, adjusted them. After a moment, he shook
his head. “They're not terribly imaginative, are they? Tell me, Lieutenant, do
you spend much time watching fornication during surveillance?”

“There's
nothing much a human being can do to another I haven't watched.”

Recognizing
the tone, he slipped the goggles off, handed them back. “It's a miserable job.
I'd have to agree that murder suspects aren't entitled to privacy.”

She jerked a
shoulder and readjusted the goggles. It was imperative to find the humor again.
She knew some cops got off peeking into bedroom windows, and misuse of the
goggles was rampant on all levels. She considered them a tool, an important
one, no matter how often their use was challenged in the courts.

“Looks like
the finale,” she said blandly. “I have to appreciate their speed.”

Justin,
levered on his elbows, plunged into her. With her feet planted firmly on the
mattress, Jerry pumped her hips to meet him. Their faces shone with sweat, and
tightly closed eyes added twin expressions of agony and delight. When he
collapsed on her, Eve started to speak.

She held her
tongue as Jerry's arms came up, cuddled. Justin nuzzled Jerry's neck. They held
each other, stroking, cheek brushing cheek.

“I'll be
damned,” Eve muttered. “It's not just sex. They care.”

More than the
animal lust, the very human affection was difficult to watch. They separated
briefly, sat up together with legs companionably tangled. He smoothed her
tangled hair. She turned her face into the palm of his hand. They began to
talk. From the expressions on their faces, the tone was serious, intense. At
one point, Jerry lowered her head, weeping.

Justin kissed
her hair, her brow, then got up and crossed the room. From a minifriggie, he
took a slim glass bottle and poured a glass of dark blue liquid.

His face was
grim as she snatched it from his hand, downed it in one quick gulp.

“Health drink,
my ass. She's using.”

“Just her,”
Peabody put in. “He's not having any.”

Justin drew
Jerry from the bed and with an arm around her waist, led her out of the
bedroom, out of vision.

“Keep
scanning, Peabody,” Eve ordered. She tugged down the goggles so that they hung
around her neck. “She's on the edge about something. And I don't think it's
over our little shoving match. The pressure's gotten to her. Some people aren't
natural-born killers.”

“If they're
trying to distance themselves from each other, add more strength to their
alibi, it was risky for her to come here tonight.”

Eve nodded as
she looked at Roarke. “She needed him. Addictions come in all forms.” As her
communicator signaled, Eve reached into her bag. “Dallas.”

“Rush, rush,
rush.”

“Dickie, give
me good news.”

“An
interesting mix, Lieutenant. Other than a few additions to take it to liquid,
add pretty color, and a mildly fruity taste, you've got yourself a match. All
the elements from the powder previously analyzed are in there, including nectar
from the Immortal Blossom. It is, however, a less potent mix, and when ingested
by mouth -- “

“That's all I
need. Transmit full report to my office unit, stat, copy Whitney, Casto, and
the prosecutor.”

“Want me to
tie a nice red bow around it, too?” he said sourly.

“Don't be such
a shit, Dickie. You'll get your fifty-yard-line seats for arena ball.” She
broke transmission, grinned. “Call for a search and confiscate warrant,
Peabody. Let's go take them down.”

“Yes, sir. Ah,
Casto?”

“Tell him
we're coming around front. Illegals will get its share.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

It was five A.
M. by the time they'd waded through the official paperwork and finished the
first round of interviews. Fitzgerald's lawyers had insisted on a six-hour
break, minimum. With no choice but to comply, Eve ordered Peabody off duty
until eight and swung by her own office.

“Didn't I tell
you to go get some sleep?” she asked when she saw Roarke kicked back at her
desk.

“I had some
work.”

Frowning, she
glanced at the monitor on her desk unit. The intricate blueprints had her
hissing. “This is police property. Tampering with police property can get you
eighteen months under home security.”

“Would you
hold off on the arrest? I'm nearly finished. East wing view, all levels.”

“I'm not
kidding, Roarke. You can't use my 'link for personal business.”

“Hmm. Note to
adjust recreational center C. Square footage insufficient. Transmit all memos
and amended dimensions, CFD Architectural and Design, FreeStar One office. Save
to disc, and disengage.” He slipped the disc out, tucked it into his pocket.
“You were saying?”

“This unit is
programmed for my voice print. Just how did you get it operational?”

He only
smiled. “Really, Eve!”

“All right,
don't tell me. I don't want to know, anyway. Couldn't you have done this at
home?”

“Certainly.
But then I wouldn't have had the pleasure of taking you home and making you get
a few hours' sleep.” He rose. “Which is what I'm about to do now.”

“I'm going to
catch a nap in the lounge.”

“No, you were
going to sit here combing through evidence and doing probability scans until your
eyes fell out.”

She could have
denied it. It wasn't very hard to lie under most circumstances. “I just have a
couple of things I want to put into order.”

He tilted his
head. “Where's Peabody?”

“I sent her
home.”

“And the
inestimable Casto?”

Recognizing
the trap, but not the escape route, Eve shrugged. “I think he went with her.”

“Your
suspects?”

“They've got a
minimum break coming.”

“And so,” he
said, taking her arm, “do you.” She started to tug away, but he continued to
march her out into the hall. “I'm sure everyone appreciates your new interview
look, but I imagine you'd do a better job of it after a nap, a shower, and a
change of clothes.”

She looked
down at the black satin gown. She'd completely forgotten she had it on. “I've
probably got a pair of jeans in my locker.” When he was able to bundle her into
the elevator with little effort, she realized she was flagging. “Okay, okay.
I'll go home and catch a shower, maybe some breakfast.”

And, Roarke
thought, at least five hours' sleep.

“How'd it go
in there?”

“Hmm?” She
blinked, shook herself alert. “Not too much progress. Didn't expect it on the
first round. They're sticking tight to their original story and claiming the
drug was planted. We've got enough for an enforced drug test on Fitzgerald. Her
lawyers are making a lot of noise over it, but we'll get it.”

She yawned
hugely. “We'll use that to finesse data out of her, if not an outright
confession. We'll triple team them on the next round.”

Roarke led her
out the breezeway to the visitors' lot where he'd parked. She was walking, he
noted, with the intense care of a woman deeply drunk. “They won't stand a
chance,” he said as they approached his car. “Roarke, disengage locks.”

He opened the
door, all but folded her into the passenger seat.

“We'll shift
off. Casto's a good interviewer.” Her head lolled back on the seat. “Gotta give
him that. Peabody's got potential. She's tenacious. We'll keep the three of
them in separate rooms, keep changing interviewers on them. I'm betting on
Young to fall first.”

Roarke eased
out of the lot, headed for home. “Why?”

“The bastard
loves her. Love messes you up. You make mistakes 'cause you're worried,
protective. Stupid.”

He smiled a
little, brushed her hair back from her face, and she dropped steeply into
sleep. “Tell me about it.”

*** CHAPTER EIGHTEEN ***

If recent behavior
was any example of what it was like to have a husband, Eve told herself it
couldn't be half bad. She'd been coddled into bed, which she was forced to
admit had been for the best, and had been awakened five unremembered hours
later by the scent of hot coffee and fresh waffles.

Roarke had
already been up, dressed, and poring over some vital business transmission.

It did irk her
from time to time that he seemed to get by on less sleep than a normal human,
but she didn't mention it. That sort of comment would only gain her a smirk.

It was to his
benefit that he didn't point out that he was taking care of her. Knowing it was
weird enough without having him crow over it.

So she headed
toward Cop Central, rested, well fed, and in her newly repaired vehicle, which
in under five blocks decided to surprise her with a new foible. Her speed
indicator shot straight into red, though she was sitting dead still in a
traffic snarl.

WARNING, she
was told pleasantly. ENGINE OVERLOAD IN FIVE MINUTES AT CURRENT SPEED. PLEASE
REDUCE VELOCITY OR SWITCH TO AUTO OVERDRIVE.

“Bite me,” she
suggested, not so pleasantly, and drove the rest of the way with the constant
cheerful advice to reduce velocity or blow up.

She wasn't
going to let it affect her mood. The nasty blackhearted thunderclouds rolling
in and sending air traffic scrambling didn't bother her. The fact that it was
Saturday, a week before her wedding, and she was in for a long, hard,
potentially brutal day at work didn't diminish her pleasure.

She strode
into Cop Central, her smile fixed and grim.

“You look
ready to gnaw raw meat,” Feeney commented.

“The way I
like it best. Any additional data?”

“Let's take
the long way. I'll fill you in.”

He detoured to
a sky glide, nearly empty at midday. The mechanism stuttered a bit, but carried
them upward. Manhattan receded to a pretty toy town of crisscrossing avenues
and brightly colored vehicles.

Lightning
cracked the sky with an accompanying boom of thunder that shook the glass
enclosure. Rain poured through the crack in gleeful buckets.

“Just made
it.” Feeney peered down, watched pedestrians scramble like maddened ants. An
airbus blatted its horn and skidded past the glass with inches to spare.
“Jesus.” Feeney slapped a hand to his jumping heart. “Where do those fuckers
get their license?”

“Anybody with
a pulse can drive those sky doggers. You couldn't get me in one with a laser
blast.”

“Public
transportation in this city's a disgrace.” He took out a bag of candied nuts to
calm himself. “Anyway, your hunch on the calls from Maui panned out. Young
called Fitzgerald's place twice before he hopped a shuttle back. He ordered the
showing on screen, too. Full two hours.”

“Got any
security of his place on the night Cockroach bought it?”

“Young came
in, with his flight bag, about six A. M. His shuttle got in at midnight. No
data on how he spent the missing six hours.”

“No alibi. He
had plenty of time to get from the terminal to the murder scene. Can we place
Fitzgerald?”

“She was at
the ballroom until a little past twenty-two thirty. Rehearsals for last night's
do. Didn't show up at her place until oh eight. She made plenty of calls: her
stylist, her masseuse, her body sculptor. Spent four hours yesterday at
Paradise, getting herself buffed and polished. Young, he spent the day talking
with his agent, his business manager, and...” Feeney smiled a little. “A travel
consultant. Our boy was interested in a trip for two to the Eden Colony.”

“I love you,
Feeney.”

“I'm a lovable
kind of guy. Picked up the sweeper's reports on my way in. Nothing we can use
on Young's place or Fitzgerald's. The only trace of illegals was in the blue
juice. If they've got more, they're keeping it elsewhere. No logs or records of
any transactions, no sign of formulas. I've still got the hard drives to diddle
with, see if they hid anything in them. But if you ask me, those two aren't
high-tech geniuses.”

“No, Redford
would probably know more about that. We've got more than murder and trafficking
here, Feeney. If we can get the stuff classified as poison and pin them with
prior knowledge of its lethal qualities, we'll have full-scale racketeering and
conspiracy to slaughter.”

“Nobody's used
conspiracy to slaughter since the Urban Wars, Dallas.”

The glide
ground to a halt. “I think it has a nice ring.”

She found
Peabody waiting outside the interview area. “Where's the rest of our party?”

“Suspects are
in conference with their attorneys. Casto's getting coffee.”

“Okay, contact
the conference rooms. Their time's up. Any word from the commander?”

“He's on his
way in. He wants to observe. The PA's office will participate via 'link.”

“Good.
Feeney's going to oversee the recordings on all three subjects. I don't want
any slipups when this business comes to trial. You take Fitzgerald for the
first round, Casto's on Redford. I want Young.”

She signaled
when she spotted Casto coming toward them juggling a tray of coffee. “Feeney,
fill them in on the additional data. Use it wisely,” she added and copped a cup
of coffee. “We'll switch teams in thirty minutes.”

She slipped
into her interview area. The first sip of miserable eatery coffee made her
smile. It was going to be a good day.

-=O=-***-=O=-

“You can do
better than that, Justin.” Eve was revving up, had barely hit her stride. It
was hour three of interview.

“You asked me
what happened. The other cops asked me what happened.” He took a drink of
water. He was well off his stride, and faltering. “I told you.”

“You're an
actor,” she pointed out, all friendly smiles. “A good one. All the reviews say
so. I read one just the other day that said you can make a bad line sing. I
don't hear music here, Justin.”

“How many
times do you want me to go over the same ground?” He looked toward his lawyer.
“How long do I have to do this?”

“We can stop
the interview process at any time,” his lawyer reminded him. She was a
sharp-looking blonde with killer eyes. “You're under no obligation to make any
further statements.”

“That's
right,” Eve chimed in. “We can stop. You can go back to holding. You're not
going to make bail on the illegals charges, Justin.” She leaned forward, made
sure his eyes focused on hers. “Not while there are four counts of murder
hanging over you.”

“My client has
not been charged with any crime other than suspicion of possession.” The lawyer
peered down her needle-straight nose. “You don't have a case here, Lieutenant.
We all know it.”

“Your client's
dangling over the edge of a very steep cliff. We all know that. Want to take
the fall alone, Justin? That doesn't seem very fair to me. Your friends are
answering questions right now.” She lifted her hands, spread her fingers. “What
are you going to do if they roll over on you?”

“I didn't kill
anyone.” He flicked his gaze toward the door, toward the mirror. He knew he had
an audience, and for once he didn't know how to play the crowd. “I never even
heard of those other people.”

“But you knew
Pandora.”

“Of course I
knew Pandora. Obviously I knew her.”

“You were
there, at her house on the night she died.”

“I've said so,
haven't I? Look, Jerry and I went to her house, at her invitation. We had a few
drinks, that other woman came around. Pandora got obnoxious, and we left.”

“How often do
you and Ms. Fitzgerald use the unsecured entrance at your building?”

“It's just a
matter of privacy,” he insisted. “If you had media hounding you every time you
tried to take a piss, you'd understand.”

Eve knew
exactly what that was like and smiled toothily. “Funny, neither of you seemed
to be particularly shy of media exposure. In fact, if I were a cynic, I'd have
to say the two of you exploited it. How long has Jerry been on Immortality?”

“I don't
know.” His eyes shifted to the mirror again, as if he was hoping a director
would say “cut” and end the scene. “I told you I didn't know what was in that
drink.”

“You had a
bottle in your bedroom, but you didn't know the contents. Never took a taste of
it?”

“I never
touched it.”

“That's funny,
too, Justin. You know, it seems to me if something was in my friggie, I'd be
tempted to sample it. Unless I knew it was poison, of course. You know
Immortality's a slow poison, don't you?”

“It doesn't
have to be.” He stopped himself, breathed hard through his nose. “I don't know
anything about it.”

“An overload
on the nervous system, slow acting, but lethal all the same. You poured Jerry a
drink, handed it to her. That's murder.”

“Lieutenant --
“

“I'd never
hurt Jerry,” he exploded. “I'm in love with her. I'd never hurt her.”

“Really?
Several witnesses claim you did just that a few days ago. Did you or did you
not strike Ms. Fitzgerald in the backstage area of the Waldorf's Royal Ballroom
on July second?”

“No, I -- We
lost our tempers.” The lines were tangling in his head. He couldn't remember
his cue. “It was a misunderstanding.”

“You hit her
in the face.”

“Yes -- no.
Yes, we were arguing.”

“You were
arguing, so you punched the woman you love, knocking her off her feet. Were you
still violently angry with her when she came to your apartment last night? When
you poured her a glass of slow-acting poison?”

“I tell you,
it's not poison, not like you mean. I wouldn't hurt her. I was never angry with
her. I couldn't be.”

“You were
never angry with her. You never hurt her. I believe you, Justin.” Eve soothed
her voice, leaned forward again, laid a kind hand over his trembling one. “You
never hit her, either. You staged it all, didn't you? You're not the kind of
man who strikes the woman he loves. You staged it, just like one of your
performances.”

“I didn't -- I
-- “ He looked up helplessly into Eve's eyes, and she knew she had him.

“You've done a
lot of action videos. You know how to pull a punch, how to fake one. That's
what you did that day, isn't it, Justin? You and Jerry pretended to fight. You
never laid a hand on her.” Her voice was gentle, full of understanding. “You're
not a violent kind of guy, are you, Justin?”

Torn, he
pressed his lips together, looked at his lawyer. She held up a hand to hold off
more questions and leaned close to Justin's ear.

Keeping her
face bland, Eve waited. She knew the pickle they were in. Did he admit to the
staging, making himself into a liar, or did he cop to punching his lover,
showing his capabilities for violence? It wasn't a steady wire to cross.

The lawyer
shifted back and folded her hands. “My client and Ms. Fitzgerald were playing a
harmless game. Foolish, admittedly, but it isn't a crime to pretend to fight.”

“No, it isn't
a crime.” Eve felt the first crackle, weakening the back of their alibi.
“Neither is going off to Maui and pretending to play house with another woman.
It was all make believe, wasn't it, Justin?”

“We just -- I
suppose we didn't take time to think it all through. We were worried, that's
all. After you picked up Paul, we wondered if you'd shoot for us. We were all
there that night, so it seemed logical.”

“You know,
that's just what I thought.” She beamed a friendly smile. “It's a very logical
step.”

“We both had
important projects going. We couldn't afford what's happening right now. We
thought if we pretended to split up, it would add weight to our alibi.”

“Because you
knew the alibi was weak. You had to figure we'd fall to the fact that either of
you, or both of you, could have left the apartment undetected on the night of
Pandora's murder. You could have gone to Leonardo's, killed her, and slipped
back home without any security breach.”

“We didn't go
anywhere. You can't prove we did.” His shoulders straightened. “You can't prove
anything.”

“Don't be too
sure. Your lover's an Immortality junkie. You had possession of the drug. How
did you get it?”

“I -- someone
gave it to her. I don't know.”

“Was it
Redford? Did he hook her, Justin? You must hate him, if he did. The woman you
love. She started dying, Justin, the first time she took a sip.”

“It's not
poison. It's not. She told me that was just Pandora's way of keeping it for
herself. Pandora didn't want Jerry to benefit from the drink. The bitch knew
what it could do for Jerry, but she wanted -- “ He broke off, heeding his
lawyer's sharp warning a little too late.

“What did she
want, Justin? Money? A lot of money? You? Did she taunt Jerry? Did she threaten
you? Is that why you killed her?”

“No. I never
touched her. I tell you I never touched her. We argued, all right? We had an
ugly scene after Leonardo's woman left that night. Jerry was upset. She had a
right to be, after everything Pandora said. That's why I took her out, had a
few drinks, calmed her down. I told her not to worry, that there were other
ways of getting a supply.”

“What other
ways?”

His breath
heaved in and out. Frantically, he shook off his lawyer's restraining hand.
“Shut up,” he snapped at her. “Just shut up. What the hell good are you doing
me? She'll have me in a cage for murder before she's finished. I want to cut a
deal. Why aren't you cutting a deal here?” He scrubbed the back of his hand
over his mouth. “I want to deal.”

“We'll have to
talk about that,” Eve said calmly. “What have you got to offer me?”

“Paul,” he
said and shuddered out a breath. “I'll give you Paul Redford. He killed her.
The bastard probably killed them all.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

Twenty minutes
later, Eve paced the conference room. “I want Redford to stew for a while. Let
him wonder how much they've told us.”

“Not getting
much out of the lady.” Casually, Casto propped his feet on the table, crossed
his ankles. “She's tough. Showing signs of withdrawal -- dry mouth, trembling,
occasional lack of focus -- but she's sticking.”

“She hasn't
had a fix in what -- over ten hours. How long do you figure she can last?”

“Don't know
enough.” Casto spread his hands. “She could ice it out, come out the other
side, or she could be a sloppy puddle of tapioca in another ten minutes.”

“Okay, so we
don't count on her breaking.”

“Redford was
showing a few cracks,” Peabody put in. “He's scared boneless. His lawyer's the
hard-ass. If we had him alone for five minutes, he'd crack like a walnut.”

“That's not an
option.” Whitney studied the hard copy of the most recent interviews. “You'll
have Young's statement to pressure him with.”

“It's weak,”
Eve muttered.

“You'll have
to make it look stronger. He claims Redford first introduced Fitzgerald to
Immortality about three months ago, suggested a partnership.”

“And according
to our fair-haired boy, it was all going to be legal and aboveboard.” Eve gave
a derisive grunt. “Nobody's that fucking naive.”

“I don't
know,” Peabody murmured. “He's cross-eyed over Fitzgerald. I'd say she could
have convinced him it was a straight deal. Research and development, a new line
of beauty and youth aids carrying Fitzgerald's name.”

“And all they
had to do was edge out Pandora.” Casto smiled. “The money would roll in.”

“It still
comes down to profit. Pandora was in the way.” Eve dropped into a seat. “The
others were in the way. Maybe Young's just an innocent schmuck, maybe not. He's
pointed at Redford, but what he hasn't figured out yet is that he could be
fingering Fitzgerald at the same time. She told him enough for him to plan a
trip to the Eden Colony, hoping the two of them could finesse a specimen of
their own.”

“You've got
your illegals conspiracy,” Whitney pointed out. “If Young shakes off the rest,
he'll have his deal. You've still got a way to go for murder. At this point,
his testimony isn't going to hold much weight. He believes Redford did Pandora.
He gives us motive. We can establish opportunity. But there's no physical
evidence, no witnesses.”

He rose. “Get
me a confession, Dallas. The PA's putting on the pressure. They're dropping
charges on Freestone Monday. If they don't have something else to feed the
media, we're all going to look like assholes.”

Casto took out
a penknife, began trimming his nails as Whitney left the room. “Christ knows we
wouldn't want the PA to look like an asshole. Shit, they want it all laid out
on a platter, don't they?” His eyes lifted to Eve's. “Redford's not going to
cop to murder. Eve. He'll go down for the drug. Hell, it's almost fashionable,
but he's not going to swing to four homicides. We've only got one hope to pin
on.”

“Which is?”
Peabody wanted to know.

“That he
didn't do it alone. We crack one of the others, we crack him. My money's on
Fitzgerald.”

“Then you take
her.” Eve blew out a breath. “I'll work Redford. Peabody, take Redford's
picture. Go back to the club, go back to Boomer's place, to Cockroach's, to
Moppett's. Show the damn thing to everybody. I need one lousy make.”

She scowled as
the 'link beeped, and she engaged it. “Dallas, don't bother me.”

“It's always
lovely to hear your voice,” Roarke said implacably.

“I'm in
conference.”

“So am I. I'm
leaving for FreeStar in thirty minutes.”

“You're going
off planet? But... well, have a good trip.”

“It can't be
avoided. I should be back within three days. You know how to contact me.”

“Yeah, I
know.” She wanted to say things, foolish things, private things. “I'm going to
be pretty tied up myself for a while,” she said instead. “See you when you get
back.”

“You might
check your office, Lieutenant. Mavis has been trying to reach you most of the
day. It appears you've missed your last fitting. Leonardo is... distraught.”

Eve did her
best to ignore Casto's quick chuckle. “I've got other things on my mind.”

“Don't we all?
Find a minute to deal with him, darling. For my sake. Let's get all those
people out of our house.”

“I wanted to
boot them out days ago. I thought you liked having all those people around.”

“And I thought
he was your brother,” Roarke murmured.

“What?”

“Old joke. No,
Eve, I don't like having all those people around. They are, in a word, maniacs.
I found Galahad cowering under the bed just now. Someone has covered him with
beads and tiny red bows. It's mortifying, for both of us.”

She bit down
on her tongue to hold back the snort of laughter. Roarke wasn't looking amused.
“Now that I know they're driving you crazy, I feel better. We'll move them
along.”

“Do that. Oh,
and I'm afraid there might be a few details for next Saturday you'll have to
handle while I'm gone. Summerset has the memos. My transport's waiting.” She
watched him signal to someone off screen, then his eyes locked back on hers.
“See you in a few days, Lieutenant.”

“Yeah.” The
screen went blank as she muttered. “Bon fucking voyage.”

“Well, hell,
Eve. If you need to run off to your dressmaker, or take your cat to therapy,
Peabody and I can handle this minor matter of murder.”

Eve's lips
stretched in a vicious smile. “Bite me, Casto.”

Despite his
many annoying qualities, Casto had solid instincts. Redford wasn't going to
break any time soon. Eve worked him hard and had the mild satisfaction of
pinning him on the illegals charges, but a confession to multiple murder just
wasn't happening.

“Let's see if
I've got this straight.” She rose. She needed to stretch her legs. She poured
coffee. “It was Pandora who told you about Immortality. And that was?”

“As I said,
about a year and a half ago, perhaps a little more.” He was iced down now,
totally in control. The illegals charges could be dealt with, particularly from
the angle he'd chosen. “She came to me with a business proposition. Or so she
termed it. She claimed to have access to a formula, something that would
revolutionize the beauty and health industry.”

“A beauty aid.
And she didn't mention the illegal or the dangerous qualities.”

“Not at that
time. She needed backing to start the line. One she intended to launch under
her name.”

“Did she show
you the formula?”

“She did not.
As I told you before, she strung me along, made promises. Admittedly, it was
poor judgment on my part. I was sexually addicted to her, a weakness she
exploited. At the same time, the business aspect seemed to have merit. She was
using the product in tablet form. And the results were impressive. I could see
that it made her look younger, more fit. It increased her energy and her sexual
drive. Marketed correctly, a product such as that would generate enormous
profit. I wanted the money for some commercially risky projects.”

“You wanted
the money, so you continued to pay her, little dribs and drabs, without being
fully informed.”

“For a time. I
did grow impatient and made demands. She made more promises. I began to suspect
that she intended to go out on her own or that she was working with someone
else. Using me. So I took a sample for myself.”

“Took a
sample?”

He took his
time answering, as if he was still Grafting the words. “I took her key while
she was sleeping and unlocked the box where she kept the tablets. I, in the
interest of protecting my investment, took a few to have them analyzed.”

“And when did
you steal the drug, in the interest of protecting your investment?”

“Theft is not
established,” the lawyer interrupted. “My client had paid, in good faith, for
the product.”

“Okay, we'll
rephrase. When did you decide to take a more active interest in your business
investment?”

“About six
months ago. I took the samples to a contact I have in chemical analysis and
paid him for a private report.”

“And
learned...”

Redford paused
to study his fingers. “I learned that the product did indeed have the
properties Pandora had promised. However, it was addictive, which pushed it
automatically into the illegals category. It was also potentially lethal when
taken regularly over a long period of time.”

“And being a
righteous man, you counted your losses and pulled out of the deal.”

“Being
righteous is not a legal requirement,” Redford said mildly. “And I had an
investment to protect. I decided to do some research to see if the unacceptable
side effects could be diminished or eradicated. I believe we accomplished that,
or nearly.”

“So you used
Jerry Fitzgerald as a guinea pig.”

“That was a
miscalculation. Perhaps I was overeager as Pandora continued to push for more
money and made statements that indicated she was about to go public with the
product. I wanted to beat her to it, and knew that Jerry would be the perfect
spokeswoman. She agreed, for a fee, to try the product my people had refined.
In a liquid form. Science makes mistakes, Lieutenant. The drug was still, as we
learned too late, highly addictive.”

“And fatal?”

“It seems. The
process has been slowed, but yes, I'm afraid there is still the potential for
physical harm in the long term. A possible side effect I warned Jerry of
several weeks ago.”

“Before or
after Pandora discovered you were trying to ace her out?”

“I believe it
was after, just after. Unfortunately, Jerry and Pandora ran into each other at
a function. Pandora made some comments about her former relationship with
Justin. From what I gather, and this is secondhand, Jerry tossed the business
deal we had made in Pandora's face.”

“And Pandora
didn't take kindly to it.”

“She was,
naturally, furious. Our relationship was rocky at best by that time. I had
already procured a specimen of the Immortal Blossom, determined to delete all
side effects from the formula. I had no intention, Lieutenant, of releasing a
dangerous drug to the public. My records will substantiate that.”

“We'll let
Illegals handle that one. Did Pandora threaten you?”

“Pandora lived
for threats. One became accustomed to them. I felt I was in a good position to
ignore them, even to counter them.” He smiled now, more confident. “You see, if
she had gone forward, knowing what properties were contained in the formula, I
could have ruined her. I had no reason to harm her.”

“Your
relationship was rocky, yet you went to her home that night.”

“In hopes that
we could come to some compromise. That's why I insisted that Justin and Jerry
be present.”

“You had sex
with her.”

“She was a
beautiful, desirable woman. Yes, I had sex with her.”

“She had
tablets of the drug in her possession.”

“She did. As I
told you, she kept them in a box in her vanity.” His smile came back. “I told
you about the box and the tablets because I assumed, correctly, that an autopsy
would show traces of the drug. It seemed wise to be forthcoming. I did nothing
but cooperate.”

“Easy to
cooperate if you knew I wouldn't find the tablets. After she was dead, you went
back for the box. Protecting your investment. If there was no product but
yours, no competitor, how much more profit there would be.”

“I did not go
back to her home after I left. I had no reason to. My product was superior.”

“Neither of
those products would have made the market, and you knew it. But on the street,
hers would have hit big, bigger than your refined, watered down, and most
likely more expensive version.”

“With more
research, more testing -- “

“More money?
You'd already put over three hundred thousand in her hands. You'd gone to the
considerable expense to procure a specimen, paid for the research and testing
to date, paid Fitzgerald. I imagine you were becoming a little anxious to see
some profit. How much did you charge Jerry for a fix?”

“Jerry and I
had a business arrangement.”

“Ten thousand
a delivery,” Eve interrupted, and watched the point strike home. “That's the
amount she transferred three times over a two-month period to your account on Starlight
Station.”

“An
investment,” he began.

“You addicted
her, then you hosed her. That makes you a dealer, Mr. Redford.”

The lawyer
went into his spin routine, turning a drug deal into a profit-and-loss
arrangement between investment partners.

“You needed
contacts. Street contacts. Boomer was always a sucker for a credit in the hand.
But he got carried away, liked to test the product. How did he get the formula?
That was sloppy of you.”

“I don't know
anyone by that name.”

“You saw him
flapping his lips at the club. Making a big deal of himself. When he went into
a privacy room with Hetta Moppett, you couldn't be sure how much he'd told her.
But when he saw you, and he ran, you had to act.”

“You're on the
wrong beam, Lieutenant. I don't know these people.”

“Maybe you
killed Hetta in panic. You didn't really mean to, but when you saw she was
dead, you had to cover it up. That's where the overkill came in. Maybe she told
you something before she died, maybe she didn't, but you had to get to Boomer
then. I'd say you were enjoying it now, the way you messed him up, tortured him
before you finished him. But you got a little overconfident, and didn't get to
his flop to search it before I did.”

She pushed
away from the table, took a turn around the room. “Now you've got big problems.
The cops have a sample, they have the formula, and Pandora's getting out of
hand. What choice do you have?” She put her hands on the table, leaned in
close. “What can a man do when he sees his investment and all those future
profits going into the sewer?”

“My business
with Pandora was finished.”

“Yeah, you
finished it. Taking her to Leonardo's was smart. You're a smart man. She was
already wired over Mavis. If you do her at his place, it's going to look like
he'd had enough. You'd have to do him, too, if he was there, but you had a
taste for it now. He's not there, so it's easier. Easier still when Mavis walks
in and you can set her up.”

Redford's
breathing was a bit forced, but he was holding. “The last time I saw Pandora,
she was alive, vicious, and eager to punish someone. If Mavis Freestone didn't
kill her, my guess would be Jerry Fitzgerald.”

Intrigued, Eve
angled back to her chair, leaned back. “Really? Why?”

“They despised
each other, were in direct competition, now more than ever. On top of
everything else. Pandora was angling to lure Justin back. That was something
Jerry wouldn't tolerate. And...” He smiled. “It was Jerry who put the idea of
going to Leonardo's for a showdown into Pandora's head.”

This is a new
one. Eve thought and cocked a brow. “Is that so?”

“After Ms.
Freestone left, Pandora was edgy, angry. Jerry seemed to enjoy that, and the
fact that the young woman had gotten a few shots in. She egged Pandora on. Said
something to the effect that if she was Pandora, she wouldn't tolerate being
humiliated that way, and why didn't she go straight over to Leonardo's and show
him who was in charge. There was another little dig about Pandora not being
able to hold onto a man, then Justin hustled Jerry out.”

His smile
widened. “They despised Pandora, you see. Jerry for obvious reasons, and Justin
because I'd told him that the drug was Pandora's doing. Justin would do
anything to protect Jerry. Absolutely anything. I, on the other hand, had no
emotional attachment to any of the players. It was just sex with Pandora. Just
sex, Lieutenant, and business.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

Eve rapped on
the door where Casto was interviewing Jerry. When he poked his head out, she
shifted her gaze, studied the woman at the table. “I need to talk to her.”

“She's running
down, running out. Not going to get too much out of her today. Lawyer's already
making noises about a break.”

“I need to
talk to her,” Eve repeated. “How have you been handling her this round?”

“Tough line,
hard-ass.”

“Okay, I'll
downgrade.” Eve slipped into the room.

She could
still feel pity, she realized. Jerry's eyes were jittery and shadowed. Her face
was drawn, and her hands shook as they ran over it. Her beauty was fragile now,
and haunted.

“You want some
food?” Eve asked in a quiet voice.

“No.” Jerry's
gaze bounced around the room. “I want to go home. I want Justin.”

“We'll see if
we can arrange a visit. It'll have to be supervised.” She poured water. “Why
don't you drink a little of this, take a minute?” She covered Jerry's hands
with her own on the glass, lifted it to the trembling lips. “This is rough on
you. I'm sorry. We can't give you anything to counteract the crash. We don't
know enough yet, and whatever we gave you might be worse.”

“I'm all
right. It's nothing.”

“It sucks.”
Eve slipped into a seat. “Redford got you into this. He verified that.”

“It's
nothing,” she said again. “I'm just tired. I need a little of my health drink.”
She looked hopefully, pitifully at Eve. “Can't I have a little, just to gear
back up?”

“You know it's
dangerous, Jerry. You know what it's doing to you. Counselor, Paul Redford has
stated on record that he introduced Ms. Fitzgerald to the illegal, under the
pretense of a business venture. It is our assumption that she was unaware of
its addictive qualities. We have no intention, at this time, of charging her
with use.”

As Eve had
hoped, the lawyer relaxed visibly. “Well, then, Lieutenant, I'd like to arrange
for my client's release and her admission into rehab. Voluntary admission.”

“Voluntary
admission can be arranged. If your client can cooperate for a few more minutes,
it would help me in closing the charges on Redford.”

“If she
cooperates, Lieutenant, all illegals charges will be dropped?”

“You know I
can't promise that, Counselor. I will, however, recommend leniency on the
charges of possession and intent to distribute.”

“And Justin?
You'll let him go?”

Eve looked
back at Jerry. Love, she thought, was an odd burden. “Was he involved in the
business transaction?”

“No. He wanted
me to pull out. When he found out that I was... dependent, he pushed me to go
into rehab, to stop taking the drink. But I needed it. I was going to stop, but
I needed it.”

“The night
Pandora died, there was an argument.”

“There was
always an argument with Pandora. She was hateful. She thought she could get
Justin back. The bitch didn't care about him. She just wanted to hurt me. To
hurt him.”

“He wouldn't
have gone back to her, would he, Jerry?”

“He hated her
as much as I did.” She lifted her beautifully manicured nails to her mouth, started
to gnaw. “We're glad she's dead.”

“Jerry -- “

“I don't
care,” she exploded with a wild look to her cautioning lawyer. “She deserved to
die. She wanted everything, never cared how she got it. Justin was mine. I
would have been headliner at Leonardo's show if she hadn't found out I was
interested. She went out of her way to seduce him, to have me cut out so that
she could take the job. It would have been my job, it should have been my job
all along. Just like Justin was mine. Like the drug was mine. It makes you
beautiful and strong and sexy. And every time anyone takes it, they'll think of
me. Not of her, of me.”

“Did Justin go
with you to Leonardo's that night?”

“Lieutenant,
what is this?”

“It's a
question, Counselor. Did he, Jerry?”

“No, of course
not. We -- we didn't go there. We went out for drinks. We went home.”

“You taunted
her, didn't you? You knew how to play her. You had to be sure she'd go hunt
down Leonardo. Did Redford contact you, tell you when she'd left?”

“No, I don't
know. You're confusing me. Can't I have something? I need my drink.”

“You were
using it that night. It made you strong. Strong enough to kill her. You wanted
her dead. She was always in your way. And her tablets were stronger, more
effective than your liquid. Did you want them, Jerry?”

“Yes, I wanted
them. She was getting younger in front of my eyes. Thinner. I have to watch
every fucking bite I take, but she... Paul said he might be able to get them
from her. Justin told him to back off, to stay away from me. But Justin doesn't
understand. He doesn't understand how it makes you feel. Immortal,” she said
with a horrible smile. “It makes you feel immortal. For God's sake, just one
drink.”

“You slipped
out of the back that night, went to Leonardo's. What happened then?”

“I can't. I'm
confused. I need something.”

“Did you pick
up the cane and hit her? Did you keep hitting her?”

“I wanted her
dead.” On a sob, Jerry laid her head on the table. “I wanted her dead. For
God's sake help me. I'll tell you anything you want to hear if you just help me.”

“Lieutenant,
anything my client says under physical and mental duress is inadmissible.”

Eve studied
the weeping woman and reached for the 'link. “Get the MT's in here,” she
ordered. “And arrange for hospital transport for Ms. Fitzgerald. Under guard.”

*** CHAPTER NINETEEN ***

“What do you
mean you're not charging her?” His eyes went dark with shock and temper as
Casto erupted, “You got a fucking confession.”

“It wasn't a
confession,” Eve corrected. She was tired, dead tired and sick of herself.
“She'd have said anything.”

“Jesus Christ,
Eve. Jesus Christ.” In an attempt to walk off fury, Casto paced up and down the
antiseptic tiled corridor of the health center. “You aced her.”

“The hell I
did.” Wearily, Eve rubbed at a headache in her left temple. “Listen to me,
Casto, the shape she was in, she'd have told me she personally drove nails into
the palms of Christ if I'd promised her a fix. I charge her on the basis of
that, her lawyers will tear it apart in pretrial.”

“You're not
worried about pretrial.” He passed the tight-lipped Peabody on his stride back
to Eve. “You went for the jugular, just like a cop's supposed to in a murder
case. Now you've gone soft. You're fucking sorry for her.”

“Don't tell me
what I am,” Eve said evenly. “And don't tell me how to run this investigation.
I'm primary, Casto, so back the hell off.”

He measured
her. “You don't want me to go over your head with this decision.”

“Threats?” She
angled her body up on the balls of her feet, like a boxer ready to dance. “You
go ahead and do what you have to do. My recommendation stands. She gets
treatment, though Christ knows how much good that's going to do her in the
short term, then we reinterview. Until I'm satisfied she's coherent and capable
of judgment, she won't be charged.”

Eve could see
he was making an effort to pull himself back. And she could see it was costing
him. She didn't give a damn.

“Eve, you've
got motive, you've got opportunity, you've got the personality capacity tests.
She's capable of the crimes in question. She was, at her own admission, under
the influence and predisposed to hate Pandora's guts. What the fuck do you
want?”

“I want her to
look me in the eye, clear in the eye, and tell me she did them. I want her to
tell me how she did them. Until then, we wait. Because I'll tell you something,
hotshot. No way she acted alone. No fucking way she did all of them with her
own pretty hands.”

“Why? Because
she's a woman?”

“No, because
money isn't her big pull. Passion is, love is, envy is. So maybe she did
Pandora in a fit of jealous rage, but I don't buy her doing the others. Not
without help. Not without a push. So we wait, we reinterview, and we get her to
finger Young and/or Redford. Then, we have it all.”

“I think
you're wrong.”

“So noted,”
she said briskly. “Now, go file your interdepartmental complaint, take a walk,
or blow it out your ass, but get out of my face.”

His eyes
flickered, the temper in them ripe and ready. But he stepped back. “I'm going
to go cool off.”

He stormed
off, with barely a glance at the silent Peabody.

“Your pal's
running a little low on charm this evening,” Eve commented.

Peabody could
have said the same went for her commanding officer, but she held her tongue.
“We're all under a lot of pressure, Dallas. This bust means a lot to him.”

“You know
what, Peabody? Justice means a little more to me than a pretty gold star on my
record or some fucking captain's bars. And if you want to go run after lover
boy and stroke his ego, no one's stopping you.”

Peabody's jaw
twitched, but her voice was even. “I'm not going anywhere, Lieutenant.”

“Fine, just
stand here and look martyred because I -- “ In midtirade, Eve stopped, sucked
in her breath. “I'm sorry. You're a goddamn handy target at the moment,
Peabody.”

“Is that part
of my job description? Sir.”

“You always
have a fine comeback. I could learn to hate you for that.” Calmer, Eve laid a
hand on her aide's shoulder. “I am sorry, and I'm sorry to put you in a tight
spot. Duty and personal emotions never mix well.”

“I can handle
it. He was wrong to come at you that way, Dallas. I can understand how he
feels, but it doesn't make him right.”

“Maybe not.”
Eve leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. “But he was right about one
thing, and it's eating at me. I didn't have the stomach for what I did to Fitzgerald
in interview. I didn't have the stomach while I was doing it, while I was
hearing myself hammer at her, twist her up when she was suffering. But I did
it, because that's my job, and going for the jugular when the prey's wounded is
exactly what I'm supposed to do.”

Eve opened her
eyes and stared hard at the door behind which Jerry Fitzgerald was mildly
sedated. “And sometimes, Peabody, the job just fucking sucks.”

“Yes, sir.”
For the first time, Peabody reached out and touched a hand to Eve's arm. “That's
why you're so good at it.”

Eve opened her
mouth, surprised when a laugh popped out. “Goddamn, Peabody, I really like
you.”

“I like you,
too.” She waited a beat. “What's wrong with us?”

Cheered a
little, she slung an arm around Peabody's sturdy shoulders. “Let's go get
something to eat. Fitzgerald's not going anywhere tonight.”

On that, Eve's
instincts proved to be wrong.

-=O=-***-=O=-

The call woke
her at a little before four A.M., out of a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep.
Her eyes were gritty, her tongue thick from the wine she'd indulged in to be
marginally sociable with Mavis and Leonardo. She managed a croak as she
answered the 'link.

“Dallas.
Christ, doesn't anyone ever sleep in this town?”

“I often ask
myself the same question.” The face and voice on the 'link were vaguely
familiar. Eve struggled to focus, to roll through her memory discs.

“Doctor...
hell, Ambrose?” It slid back, layer by layer. Ambrose, spindly female, mixed
race, head of chemical rehab at the Midtown Rehabilitation Center for Substance
Addiction. “You still there? Is Fitzgerald coming around?”

“Not exactly.
Lieutenant, we have a problem here. Patient Fitzgerald is dead.”

“Dead? What do
you mean dead?”

“As in
deceased,” Ambrose said with a bland smile. “As a homicide lieutenant, I
imagine you're familiar with the term.”

“How, damn it?
Did her nervous system give out, did she jump out a fucking window?”

“As near as we
can determine, she overdosed herself. She managed to get her hands on the
sample of Immortality we were using to determine the proper treatment for her.
She took all of it, in combination with a few of the other goodies we have
stashed here. I'm sorry, Lieutenant, she's gone. We can't bring her back. I'll
fill you in on the details when you and your team arrive.”

“Damn right
you will,” Eve snapped and broke transmission.

-=O=-***-=O=-

Eve viewed the
body first, as if to ensure herself there hadn't been a horrible mistake. Jerry
had been laid on the bed, her color-coded hospital gown draped to midthigh. Sky
blue for addict, first stage treatment.

She was never
going to get to stage two.

Her beauty was
back, oddly eerie, in the bone-white face. The shadows were gone from under her
eyes, the strain from around the mouth. Death was the ultimate calmer, after
all. There were faint burn marks on her chest where the resuscitating team had
worked on her, a light bruising on the back of her hand where the IV had
pinched. Under the doctor's wary eye, Eve examined the body thoroughly, but
found no signs of violence.

She'd died,
Eve supposed, as happy as she would ever be.

“How?” Eve
demanded shortly.

“The
combination of Immortality and, as far as we can determine by what's missing,
doses of morphine and synthetic Zeus. Autopsy will confirm.”

“You keep Zeus
here, in a rehab?” The idea had Eve scrubbing her hands over her face. “Jesus.”

“For research
and rehabilitation,” Ambrose said tightly. “Subjects addicted need a slow,
supervised withdrawal period.”

“So where the
hell was the supervision, Doctor?”

“Ms.
Fitzgerald was sedated. She was not expected to regain full consciousness until
eight A. M. My hypothesis would be that, as we don't fully understand the
properties of Immortality as yet, what was left in her system counteracted the
sedative.”

“So she got
up, marched herself down to your drug hold, and helped herself.”

“Something of
the kind.” Eve could all but hear Ambrose's teeth grinding.

“What about
security, the nursing staff? Did she turn herself invisible and walk right by
them?”

“You can check
with your own officer on duty about security, Lieutenant Dallas.”

“Be sure I
will, Dr. Ambrose.”

Ambrose
gnashed her teeth again, then sighed. “Listen, I don't want to hang the mess on
your uniform, Lieutenant. We had a disruption here a few hours ago. One of our
violent tendencies attacked his ward nurse, got out of his restraints. We had
our hands full for a few minutes, and the uniform pitched in. If she hadn't,
the ward nurse would very likely be standing at the Pearly Gates with Ms. Fitzgerald
right now instead of dealing with a broken tibia and some cracked ribs.”

“You've had a
busy night, Doctor.”

“Not one I
want to repeat any time soon.” She dragged her fingers through curly,
rust-colored hair. “Listen, Lieutenant, this center has an excellent
reputation. We help people. Losing one, this way, makes me feel every bit as
shitty as you. She should have been asleep, damn it. And that uniform wasn't
away from her post for more than fifteen minutes.”

“Timing
again.” Eve looked back at Jerry and tried to shrug off the weight of guilt.
“What about your security cameras?”

“We don't have
any. Lieutenant, can you imagine how many media leaks we'd have if we had
recordings of patients, some of whom are prominent citizens? We're bound by
privacy laws here.”

“Great, no
security discs. Nobody sees her take her last walk. Where's the drug hold where
she OD'd?”

“This wing,
one level down.”

“How the hell
did she know that?”

“That,
Lieutenant, I can't tell you. Any more than I can explain how she unkeyed the
lock, not only on the door, but on the holds themselves. But she did. The night
watch found her on his sweep. The door was open.”

“Unlocked or
open?”

“Open,”
Ambrose confirmed. “As were two holds. She was on the floor, dead as Caesar. We
tried the usual resuscitations, of course, but it was more for form than from
hope.”

“I'll need to
talk to everyone in this wing -- patients as well as staff.”

“Lieutenant --
“

“Fuck privacy
laws, Doctor. I'm overriding them. I want your night watch as well.” Pity jangled
Eve's nerves as she recovered the body. “Did anyone come in, try to see her?
Did anyone call to check her condition?”

“Her ward
nurse will have that information.”

“Then let's
start with her ward nurse. You round up the rest of them. Is there a room I can
use for interview?”

“You can use
my office, such as it is.” Ambrose looked back at the body, hissed between her
teeth. “Beautiful woman. Young, with fame and fortune at her fingertips. Drugs
heal, Lieutenant. They extend life and the quality of it. They eradicate pain,
soothe a troubled mind. I work hard to remember that when I see what else they
can do. If you ask me, and you're not, she was headed here the first time she
sipped that pretty blue juice.”

“Yeah, but she
got here a lot faster than she was supposed to.”

Eve strode out
of the room, spotted Peabody in the corridor. “Casto?”

“I contacted
him. He's on his way.”

“It's a
goddamn mess, Peabody. Let's do what we can to mop it up. See that this room --
Hey, you.” She saw the officer she'd left on guard at the end of the hallway.
Her finger pointed like an arrow. She could see that it hit its mark by the way
the uniform winced before she blanked her face and started toward her
commanding officer.

Eve blew off
some steam giving the uniform a dressing down. She didn't have to know Eve
would recommend no disciplinary action be taken. Let her sweat.

In the end,
when she was sweating and pale, Eve studied the nasty bruising scrape on the
officer's collarbone. “The VT give you that?”

“Sir, before I
restrained him.”

“Have it seen
to, for Christ's sake. You're in a health center. And I want this door secured.
You got that this time? Nobody in, nobody out.”

“Yes, sir.”
She snapped to attention, looking, Eve thought, pathetically like a whipped
puppy. Barely old enough to buy a beer at a street stall, Eve mused with a
shake of her head.

“Stand your
watch, Officer, until I order your relief.”

She spun away,
gesturing for Peabody to follow.

“You ever get
that pissed off at me,” Peabody said in her mild voice, “I'd prefer a
bare-knuckled punch in the face to a tongue lashing.”

“So noted.
Casto, glad you decided to join us.”

His shirt was
rumpled, as if he'd tossed on the first thing that had come to hand. Eve knew
the routine. Her own shirt looked as if it had been balled in someone's pocket
for a week. “What the hell happened here?”

“That's what
we're going to find out. We're setting up in Dr. Ambrose's office. We'll
question the relevant staff one at a time. For the patients we're likely going
to be required to do a room to room. Everything on record, Peabody, starting
now.”

In silence,
Peabody took out her recorder, clipped it to her lapel. “On record, sir.”

Eve nodded to
Ambrose, then followed her through reinforced glass doors, down a short
hallway, and into a small, cluttered office.

“Dallas,
Lieutenant Eve. Questioning of possible witnesses in the death of Fitzgerald,
Jerry.” She checked her watch for time and date and recorded them. “Also
present are Casto, Lieutenant Jake T., Illegals Division, and Peabody, Officer
Delia, temporary attache to Dallas. Questioning to take place in the office of
Dr. Ambrose, Midtown Rehabilitation Center for Substance Addictions. Dr.
Ambrose, please send in the ward nurse. And stand by, Doctor.”

“How the hell
did she die?” Casto demanded. “Her system just give out? What?”

“In a manner
of speaking. I'll fill you in as we go.”

He started to
speak, then controlled himself. “Can we get some coffee in here, Eve? I haven't
had my fix.”

“Try that.”
She jerked her thumb at a battered AutoChef, then took her place behind the
desk.

-=O=-***-=O=-

It didn't get
much better. By midday, Eve had personally questioned every staff member on
duty in the wing, with nearly the same results each time. The VT in room 6027
had gotten out of his restraints, attacked his ward nurse, and all hell had
broken loose. From what she could gather, people had poured down the hallway
like a river, leaving Jerry's room unattended for anywhere from twelve to
eighteen minutes.

More than
enough time, Eve supposed, for a desperate woman to flee. But how did she know
where to find the drug she craved, and how did she gain access to it?

“Maybe some of
the staff were talking about it in her room.” Casto shoveled in veggie pasta on
their midday break in the center's eatery. “A new blend always creates a big
buzz. It's not much of a stretch to figure that the ward nurse or a couple of
orderlies were gossiping about it. Fitzgerald obviously wasn't as sedated as
anyone thought. She hears them, and when she sees her chance, goes for it.”

Eve chewed
over the theory and a forkful of grilled chicken hash. “I can buy that. She had
to hear it somewhere. And she was desperate, and smart. I can buy that she'd
figure a way to get down to it undetected. But how the hell did she get past
the locks? Where'd she get the code?”

He fumbled
there and scowled down at his meal. A man wanted meat, damn it. Good red meat.
And these pussy health centers treated it like poison.

“Could she
have gotten a master code somewhere?” Peabody speculated. She was sticking to
green leaf salad, undressed, with the idea of shaving off a couple of pounds.
“Or a code breaker.”

“Then where is
it?” Eve shot back. “She was stone dead when they found her. The sweepers
didn't find any master code in the room.”

“Maybe the
frigging door was open when she got there.” Disgusted, Casto shoved his plate
aside. “That's the kind of luck we've been having.”

“That's a
little too serendipitous for me. Okay, she hears a discussion about
Immortality, how it's being kept in the drug hold for research. She's in acute
withdrawal, with whatever they've plugged into her smoothing out the worst of
the raw edges. But she needs it. Then, like a gift from God, there's a
commotion outside. I don't like gifts from God,” Eve muttered. “But we'll run
with it for now. She gets up, the guard's gone, and she's out of there. She
gets down to the drug hold, though I can't see a couple of orderlies discussing
directions to it. Still, she got there, we've established that. But getting
in...”

“What are you
thinking, Eve?”

She lifted her
gaze to Casto's. “That she had help. That somebody wanted her to get to it.”

“You think one
of the staff led her down there so she could help herself?”

“It's a
possibility.” Eve shrugged off the doubt in Casto's voice. “A bribe, a promise,
a fan. And when we go through everyone's records, we might hit on something
that indicates a weak link. In the meantime -- “ She broke off as her
communicator sounded. “Dallas.”

“Lobar,
sweeper. We found something interesting in the disposal hold down here,
Lieutenant. It's a master code, and its got Fitzgerald's prints all over it.”

“Bag it,
Lobar. I'll be down shortly.”

“That explains
a lot,” Casto began. The transmission perked up his appetite enough for him to
dig into the pasta again. “Somebody helped her, like you said. Or she copped it
from one of the nurses' stations during the confusion.”

“Clever girl,”
Eve murmured. “Very clever girl. Times it all like clockwork, goes down, unkeys
what she wants, then takes the additional time to ditch the master. She sure
was thinking clearly, wasn't she?”

Peabody
drummed her fingers on the table. “If she took a hit of the Immortality first
-- and it seems likely she would, it probably jolted her back on full. She
probably realized she could be caught there, with the master. If she ditched
it, she could claim she'd wandered off, that she was confused.”

“Yeah.” Casto
flashed her a smile. “That works for me.”

“Then why
stay?” Eve demanded. “She'd had her fix. Why didn't she make a run for it?”

“Eve.” Casto's
voice was quiet, sober, as were his eyes. “There's a possibility we haven't
touched on here. Maybe she wanted to die.”

“A deliberate
OD?” She had thought of it, didn't like what it did to her stomach muscles.
Guilt descended like a clammy mist. “Why?”

Understanding
her reaction, he laid a hand briefly over hers. “She was trapped. You had her.
She had to know she was going to spend the rest of her life in a cage -- in a
cage,” he added, “with no access to the drug. She'd have gotten old, lost her
looks, lost everything that mattered most to her. It was a way out, a way to
die young and beautiful.”

“Suicide.”
Peabody picked up the threads and wove them. “The combination she took was
lethal. If she was clearheaded enough to get into the hold, she would have been
clear-headed enough to know that. Why face the scandal, imprisonment, another
withdrawal if you could go out quick and clean?”

“I've seen it
happen,” Casto added. “In my line, it's not unusual. People can't live with the
drug, can't live without it. So they take themselves out with it.”

“No note,” Eve
said stubbornly. “No message.”

“She was
despondent, Eve. And like you said, desperate.” Casto toyed with his coffee.
“If it was an impulse, something she felt she had to do and do quick, she might
not have wanted to think long enough to leave a message. Eve, nobody forced
her. There's no sign of violence or struggle on the body. It was self-induced.
It may have been an accident, it may have been deliberate. You're not likely to
fully determine which.”

“It doesn't
close the homicides. No way she acted alone.”

Casto
exchanged a look with Peabody. “Maybe not. But the fact is that the influence
of the drug may explain that she did just that. You can hammer away at Redford
and Young for a while. Christ knows, neither one of them should get off clean
in this. But you're going to have to close this thing sooner or later. It's done.”
He set his cup down. “Give yourself a break.”

“Well, this is
cozy.” Justin Young stepped up to the table. His eyes, hollow and red-rimmed,
fastened on Eve. “Nothing spoils your appetite, does it, you bitch?”

As Casto
started to rise, Eve lifted a finger, signaling him down. She shoved pity
aside. “Your lawyers manage to spring you, Justin?”

“That's right,
all it took was Jerry dying to push them into granting bail. My lawyer tells me
that with these latest developments -- that's just how the fucker phrased it --
with these latest developments, the case is all but closed. Jerry's a multiple
murderer, a drug addict, a dead woman, and I'm all but in the clear. Handy,
isn't it?”

“Is it?” Eve
said evenly.

“You killed
her.” He leaned forward on the table, the slap of his hands rattling cutlery.
“You might as well have rammed a knife in her throat. She needed help,
understanding, a little compassion. But you kept hacking away at her until she
fell to pieces. Now she's dead. Do you understand that?” Tears began to swim in
his eyes. “She's dead and you get a nice big star next to your name. Bagged
yourself a mad killer. But I've got news for you, Lieutenant. Jerry never
killed anyone. But you did. This isn't over.” He swept an arm across the table,
sending dishes to the floor in a mess of broken crockery and spilled food. “No
way in hell is this over.”

She let out a
long breath as he walked away. “No, I guess it's not.”

*** CHAPTER TWENTY ***

She'd never
known a week to move so fast. And she felt brutally alone. Everyone considered
the case closed, including the PA's office and her own commander. Jerry
Fitzgerald's body was reduced to ashes, her final interview logged.

The media went
into its usual frenzy. Top level model's secret life. The killer beneath the
perfect face. Quest for immortality leaves a trail of death.

She had other
cases, certainly had other obligations, but she spent every free minute
reviewing the case, picking through evidence, and trying out new theories until
even Peabody told her to give it up.

She tried to
juggle the few little details on the wedding Roarke had asked her to see to.
But what the hell did she know about caterers, wine selections, and seating
charts? In the end, she swallowed her pride and dumped the whole mess on a
sneering Summerset.

And was told,
in didactic tones, that a wife of a man in Roarke's position would have to
learn basic social skills.

She told him
to shove it, and they both went off, well satisfied to do what they did best.
Under it all, Eve was almost afraid they were beginning to like each other.

-=O=-***-=O=-

Roarke
wandered from his office into Eve's. And shook his head. They would be married
the next day. In less than twenty hours. Was the bride-to-be fussing with her wedding
gown, bathing herself in fragrant oils and perfumes, daydreaming about her life
to come?

No, she was
hunched over her computer, muttering at it, her hair tousled from constant
raking with her fingers. There was a stain on her shirt where she'd spilled
coffee. A plate holding what might have once been a sandwich had been set on
the floor. Even the cat avoided it.

He walked up
behind her, saw, as he had expected to see, the Fitzgerald file on screen.

Her tenacity
fascinated him, and yes, allured him. He wondered if she had allowed anyone
else to see that she suffered over Fitzgerald's death. If she'd been able, she
would have hidden it even from him.

He knew the
guilt was there, and the pity. And the duty. All would push her, chain a part
of her to the case. It was one of the reasons he loved her, that huge capacity
for emotion strapped into a logical, restless mind.

He started to
bend down to kiss the crown of her head just as she lifted it. They both swore
when her head connected hard with his jaw.

“Christ
Jesus.” Torn between amusement and pain, Roarke dabbed at the blood on his lip.
“You make romance a dangerous business.”

“You shouldn't
sneak up behind me that way.” Frowning, she rubbed the top of her head. It was
just one more spot to throb. “I thought you and Feeney and a few of your
hedonistic friends were going out to rape and pillage.”

“A bachelor's
party is not a Viking invasion. I have some time yet before the barbarism
begins.” He sat down on the corner of her desk and studied her. “Eve, you need
a break from this.”

“I'm going to
be taking a three-week one, aren't I?” she hissed as he only lifted his brows
patiently. “Sorry, I'm being bitchy. I can't get past this, Roarke. I've put it
aside a half dozen times this past week, but I keep coming back.”

“Say it aloud.
Sometimes it's helpful.”

“Okay.” She
shoved back from the desk, narrowly missed stepping on the cat. “She could have
gone to the club. Some of the fancy people slum at that kind of place.”

“Pandora did.”

“Exactly. And
they did run with the same basic crowd. So yeah, she could have gone to the
club, she could have seen Boomer there. She might even have had a contact tell
her he was in. This is all supposing that she knew him, which is not firmly
established. And was working with him, or through him. She sees him there,
realizing he's mouthing off. He's a loose end, someone who's outlived his
usefulness and is now a liability.”

“So far that's
logical.”

She nodded,
but didn't stop pacing. “Okay, he spots her after he comes out of the privacy
room with Hetta Moppett. Jerry has to worry now what he's said. He could have
bragged, even puffed up his own connection to impress the woman. Boomer's smart
enough to know he's in trouble, takes off, goes underground. Hetta's the first
victim. She's got to go because she might know something. She's taken out
quick, brutally, so it looks like a random rage hit. Her ID's taken. That means
it'll take longer to trace her, connect her with the club and Boomer. If anyone
cared to connect her, which was unlikely.”

“Except they
didn't count on you.”

“There's that.
Boomer's got a sample, he's got the formula. He had quick hands when he wanted
them, and a skill for larceny. Judgment wasn't his strong suit. Maybe he
pressed for more money, a larger cut of the whole. But he was good at his job.
Nobody knew he was a weasel but a handful of people connected to NYPSD.”

“And those who
did wouldn't have known how seriously and personally you take a partnership.”
He cocked his head. “Under most circumstances, I'd say his death would have
been chalked off to a soured drug deal, a revenge hit by one of his associates,
and left at that.”

“True enough,
but Jerry didn't move quick enough. We found the stuff at Boomer's, started to
work on that angle. At the same time, I get a first-hand look at Pandora at
work. You know the story there, and you've heard the rundown on the
circumstances on the night of her death. Pinning Mavis with the crime was a
stroke of luck, good and bad. It gave Jerry time, presented her with a
convenient scapegoat.”

“A scapegoat
who just happened to be near and dear to the primary's heart.”

“That's the
bad luck. How many times am I going to walk into a case and know the most
likely suspect is absolutely innocent? Despite all the evidence, despite
everything? It's just not going to happen.”

“I don't know.
It did with me a few months ago.”

“I didn't
know, I felt. After awhile, I knew.” She jammed her hands in her pockets,
ripped them out again. “With Mavis I knew, from the get go, I knew. So I
approached the entire case from a different angle. Now I see three potential
suspects, all, as it turns out, with motive, with opportunity, and with means.
One of those suspects, I begin to believe, is addicted to the very drug that
started the ball rolling. Just when you think it's safe to start assuming, a
dealer on the East End is taken out. Same MO. Why? That's a sticking point,
Roarke, one I can't clean up. They didn't need Cockroach. The odds of Boomer
trusting him with any data on this are so long they reach through the
stratosphere. But he's taken out, and there are traces of the drug in his
system.”

“A ploy.”
Roarke took out a cigarette and lighted it. “A distraction.”

For the first
time in hours, she grinned. “That's what I like, about you. Your criminal mind.
Toss in a red herring to confuse the issue. Leave the cops straining to find a
logical connection with Cockroach. In the meantime, Redford's manufacturing a
variety of Immortality on his own, he's given it to Jerry. Along with a hefty
fee. But he got that back by bleeding her for every bottle of it from then on.
A smart businessman, he's gone to the trouble, taken the risk of procuring a
specimen from the Eden Colony.”

“Two,” Roarke
said and had the pleasure of seeing that intense face go blank.

“Two what?”

“He ordered
two. I swung by Eden on my way back on planet, had a talk with Engrave's
daughter. I asked if she could find the time to do some cross-checking. Redford
ordered his first specimen nine months ago, using another name and a forged
license. But the ID numbers are the same. He had it shipped to a florist on
Vegas II, one with a dubious reputation for dealing in contraband flora.” He
paused to tap his ash into a marble bowl. “I'd say it was sent from there to a
lab, where the nectar was distilled.”

“Why the hell
didn't you tell me before?”

“I'm telling
you now. It was just confirmed five minutes ago. You can probably contact
security on Vegas II and have the florist questioned.”

She was
swearing as she pounded to her 'link, gave orders for just that.

“Even if they
crack him, it'll take weeks to cut through the bureaucracy and have him
transported on planet so I can have a go at him.” But she rubbed her hands
together, anticipating it. “You might have mentioned you were doing this.”

“If it came to
nothing, you wouldn't be disappointed. Instead, you have to be grateful.” His
eyes sobered. “Eve, this doesn't change the situation overmuch.”

“It means
Redford was working on his own longer than he wanted us to know about. It means
-- “ She broke off and dropped into a chair. “I know she could have done it,
Roarke. On her own. She could slip out of Young's apartment without detection.
She could have left him sleeping, come back, cleaned up. Every fucking time. Or
he could have known. He'd go to the wall for her, and he's an actor. He'd toss
Redford to the wolves in a heartbeat, but not if it implicated Jerry.”

She lowered
her head to her hands a moment, fingers rubbing hard over her brow. “I know she
could have done it. I know she could have seen a window of opportunity and
gotten into the drug hold. She might have decided to end it her way, it suits
her personality. But it just doesn't feel right.”

“You can't
blame yourself for her death,” Roarke said quietly. “For the obvious reason that
you aren't to blame, and also a reason you'll accept, guilt clouds logic.”

“Yeah. I
know.” She rose again, restless. “I've been off my stride with this one. Mavis,
remembering about my father. I've missed details, overlapped where it wasn't
necessary. All these distractions.”

“Including the
wedding?” he suggested.

She managed a
weak smile. “I've tried not to think too much about that. Nothing personal.”

“Consider it a
formality. A contract, if you like, with a few trimmings.”

“Have you
considered that a year ago we didn't even know each other? That we're living in
the same house, but for a good deal of the time we're on two different steps?
That all this... stuff we feel for each other might not really be the sort of
thing that holds up in the long stretch?”

He looked at
her steadily. “Are you going to piss me off the night before we're married?”

“I'm not
trying to piss you off, Roarke, You brought it up, and since it has been one of
the distractions, I'd like to clear it up. These are reasonable questions and
deserve reasonable answers.”

His eyes went
dark. She recognized the warning and braced herself for the storm. Instead, he
rose, spoke with such icy calm she nearly shuddered. “Are you backing out,
Lieutenant?”

“No. I said I'd
do it. I just think we should... think,” she said lamely, and hated herself.

“Well, you
think then, find your reasonable answers. I have mine.” He glanced at his
watch. “And I'm running late. Mavis is waiting downstairs for you.”

“For what?”

“Ask her,” he
said with the slightest edge to his voice as he walked out.

“Damn it.” She
kicked the desk with enough force to have Galahad eyeing her maliciously. She
kicked it again because pain had some rewards, then limped out to go find
Mavis.

An hour later,
she found herself being dragged into the Down and Dirty Club. She'd suffered
through Mavis's orders to change her clothes, to do something about her hair,
her face. Even her attitude. But when the music and noise hit her like a
roundhouse punch, she balked.

“Jesus, Mavis.
Why here?”

“Because it's
nasty, that's why. Bachelor parties are supposed to be nasty. Christ, look at
that guy onstage. His cock's big enough to drill spikes. Good thing I asked
Crack to save us an A table. The place is sardine city, and it's barely
midnight.”

“I have to get
married tomorrow,” Eve began, finding it a handy excuse for the first time.

“That's the
point. Jesus, Dallas, loosen up. Hey, there's our party.”

Eve was used
to shocks. But this was a doozy. It was a bit more than credulity could bear to
see a table directly under a cock swinger crowded by Nadine Furst, Peabody, a
woman who she thought was probably Trina, and, dear God Almighty, Dr. Mira.

Before she
could close her mouth, Crack swooped up behind her and hoisted her off her feet.
“Hey there, skinny white girl. Gonna party tonight. Got you a bottle of
champagne on the house.”

“You've got
any champagne in this joint, pal, I'll chew the cork.”

“Hell, it
sparkles. What you want?” He gave her a quick spin, to the vocal appreciation
of the crowd, caught her midair, and thumped her down in a seat at the table.
“Ladies, y'all enjoy yourselves now, or I'm gonna hear about it.”

“You have such
interesting friends, Dallas.” Nadine puffed on a cigarette. No one was going to
worry about tobacco restrictions in there. “Have a drink.” She lifted a bottle
of unknown substance, poured some into what looked like a fairly clean glass.
“We're way ahead of you.”

“I had to get
her to change.” Mavis hipped her way into a seat. “She bitched all the way.”
Then Mavis's eyes filled. “She only did it for me.” She took Eve's drink,
swilled it down. “We wanted to surprise you.”

“You did. Dr.
Mira. It is Dr. Mira, isn't it?”

Mira smiled
brilliantly. “It was when I walked in. I'm afraid I'm a little fuzzy on details
at this point.”

“We gotta have
a toast.” Rocky on her pins, Peabody used the table for balance. She managed to
raise her glass without spilling more than half its contents on Eve's head. “To
the best fucking cop in the whole stinking city, who's gonna marry the sexiest
sumbitch I, personally, have ever laid eyes on, and who, because she's so
goddamn smart, has seen to it that I'm perman'ly attached to Homicide. Which is
where any half-blind asshole could tell you I belong. So there.” She downed the
rest of her drink, fell backward into her chair, and grinned foolishly.

“Peabody,” Eve
said and flicked a finger under her eyes. “I've never been more touched.”

“I'm shit
faced, Dallas.”

“The evidence
points to it. Can we get any food in here that doesn't promise ptomaine? I'm
starved.”

“The bride to
be wants to eat.” Still sober as a nun, Mavis bolted to her feet. “I'll take
care of it. Don't get up.”

“Oh, and
Mavis.” Eve jerked her down, murmured in her ear. “Get me something nonlethal
to drink.”

“But, Dallas,
it's a party.”

“And I'm going
to enjoy it. I really am, but I want to be clear-headed tomorrow. It's
important to me.”

“That's so
sweet.” Weeping again, Mavis lowered her face to Eve's shoulder.

“Yeah, I'm a
regular sugar substitute.” On impulse she jerked Mavis around and kissed her
square on the mouth. “Thanks. Nobody else would have thought of this.”

“Roarke did.”
Mavis mopped at her eyes with the glittering fringe swinging from her sleeve.
“We worked it out together.”

“He would,
wouldn't he?” Smiling a little, Eve took another dubious look at the naked
bodies gyrating on stage. “Hey, Nadine.” She topped off the reporter's glass.
“The guy up there with the red tail feathers has his eye on you.”

“Oh, yeah?”
Nadine looked blearily around.

“Dare you.”

“Dare me what?
To get up there? Shit, that's nothing.”

“Then do it.”
Eve leaned over, grinned in her face. “Let's see some action.”

“You think I
won't.” Rising, Nadine teetered, righted herself. “Hey, hot stuff,” she shouted
to the closest dancer. “Give me a hand up.”

The crowd
loved her, Eve decided. Especially when Nadine got into the spirit and stripped
down to purple underwear. Eve sighed into her mineral water. She sure knew how
to pick her friends. “How's it going, Trina?”

“I'm having an
out of body experience. I think I'm in Tibet.”

“Uh-huh.” Eve
cast a look at Dr. Mira. The way the woman was cheering, Eve was afraid she'd
leap up onstage herself. She didn't think either one of them wanted that vision
in their memory logs. “Peabody.” She had to jab her fingers into Peabody's arm
to get even a vague reaction. “Let's get some more food here.”

Peabody
grunted. “I could do that.”

Following her
gaze, Eve watched Nadine in a crotch grind with a seven-foot black in body
paint. “Sure you could, pal. You'd bring the house down.”

“It's just
that I've got this little pouch.” She staggered, and Eve caught her neatly by
the arm. “Jake called it my jelly belly. I'm saving up to have it sucked.”

“Just do some
more abs. Don't go for the vacuum.”

“It's
heditary.”

“Hereditary.”

“Right.” She
swayed and hobbled as Eve steered her through the crowd. “Everybody in my
family's got one. Jake likes 'em skinny. Like you.”

“Screw him,
then.”

“Did.” Peabody
giggled, then leaned heavily on a serving bar. “Screwed our brains out. That's
not what does it, though, you know that, Evie.”

Eve sighed.
“Peabody, I don't want to punch a fellow officer when she's impaired. So don't
call me Evie.”

“Right. Know
what does it?”

“Food,” she
ordered from the server droid. “Any kind and lots of it. Table three. What does
what, Peabody?”

“What does it.
It. What you and Roarke got, that's what does it. Connection. Inside
connections. Sex is just the extra.”

“Sure. You and
Casto having problems?”

“Nope. Just
don't have much connection now that the case is closed.” Peabody shook her head
and lights exploded in front of her eyes. “Jesus, I'm plowed. Gotta use the
John.”

“I'll go with
you.”

“I can do it
myself.” With some dignity, Peabody nudged Eve's hand from her arm. “I don't
care to vomit in front of a superior officer, if it's all the same to you.”

“Suit
yourself.”

But Eve
watched her like a hawk as she toddled across the floor. They'd been at it
nearly three hours, she judged. And though fun was fun, she was going to get
some food into her little playmates and see that they all got transport home.

Smiling, she
leaned on the bar herself, watching Nadine, still wearing purple briefs,
sitting at the table having an earnest discussion with Dr. Mira. Trina had her
head on the table now and was probably communing with the Dhali Lama.

Mavis, eyes
shining, was onstage, screeching out an impromptu number that had the dance
floor rocking.

Damn it, she
thought as she felt her throat burn. She loved the whole snockered lot of them.
Peabody included, she decided, and opted to take a short peek into the toilet
to make sure her aide hadn't passed out or drowned.

She made it
nearly halfway across the club before she was grabbed. As it had been happening
on and off all evening as hopeful clubgoers trolled for partners, she started
to shake off good-naturedly.

“Try again,
ace. Not interested. Hey!” The quick pinch on her arm annoyed more than hurt.
But her vision was already wavering as she was muscled through the hooting
crowd and shoved into a privacy room.

“Goddamn it, I
said I wasn't interested.” She started to reach for her badge, missed her
pocket completely. At a gentle nudge, she spilled backward onto a narrow bed.

“Take a rest,
Eve. We have to talk.” Casto dropped down next to her and crossed his feet at
the ankles.

-=O=-***-=O=-

Roarke wasn't
in a partygoing mood, but as Feeney had gone to some trouble to create a
monstrously hedonistic atmosphere, he played his part. It was a hall of sorts,
crowded with men, many of whom were surprised to find themselves participating
in such a pagan ritual. Still, Feeney, with his electronic expertise, had
ferreted out some of Roarke's closer business associates, and none had wanted
to risk offending someone of Roarke's stature with a refusal.

So there they
were, the rich, the famous, and the scrambling, pressed into a badly lit room
with life-size screens flickering with naked bodies in various, imaginative
acts of sexual frenzy, a trio of live strippers already entertainingly naked,
and enough beer and whiskey to sink the Seventh Fleet and all its crew.

Roarke had to
admit it had been a nice gesture and was doing his best to live up to Feeney's
expectations as a man on his final night of freedom.

“There you
are, boy-o, another whiskey for you.” After several of the Irish himself,
Feeney had slipped comfortably into the brogue of the country he'd never seen
-- that indeed his great-great-grandparents had never set foot on. “Up the
rebels, eh?”

Roarke cocked
a brow. He himself had been born in Dublin and had spent most of his youth
wandering its streets and alleys. Yet he couldn't claim the sentimental
attachment Feeney did for a land and its rebellions. “Slainte,” he said to
please his friend, and sipped.

“There's a
lad. Now you see here, Roarke, the ladies among us are for looking purposes
only. No touching for you now.”

“I'll do my
best to restrain myself.”

Feeney grinned
and slapped Roarke on the back hard enough to stagger him. “She's a prize,
isn't she? Our Dallas.”

“She's...”
Roarke scowled into his whiskey. “Something,” he decided.

“Keep you on
your toes, she will. Keeps them all on their toes. Got a mind like a fucking
shark. You know, focused on one thing till the thing's done. Tell you straight,
this last case had her bug-shit.”

“She hasn't
let it go,” Roarke murmured, and smiled coolly when a naked blonde sidled up to
rub her hands up his chest. “You'll have better luck with that one,” he told
her, gesturing to a glaze-eyed man in charcoal gray pinstripes. “He owns Stoner
Dynamics.”

When she
looked blank, Roarke gently disengaged the hands that were gliding cheerfully
toward his crotch. “He's loaded.”

She shimmied
off, leaving Feeney gazing wistfully after her. “I'm a happily married man,
Roarke.”

“So I've been
told.”

“It's lowering
to admit I'm not but a little tempted to give a pretty young thing like that a
quick ride in a dark room.”

“You're a
better man for it, Feeney.”

“That's the
truth.” He sighed, low and long, then veered back to the former topic. “Dallas
goes off for a few weeks, she'll put this aside, get on with the next.”

“She doesn't
like losing, and she thinks she has.” He tried to dismiss it. Damn if he wanted
to spend the night before his wedding picking apart a homicide. With a muttered
curse, he steered Feeney to a quiet corner. “What do you know about that dealer
who got hit in the East End?”

“Cockroach.
Not much to know. Dealer, fairly slick, fairly stupid. It's amazing how many of
them are both. Stuck to his own turf. Liked a quick, easy profit.”

“Was he a
weasel, too? Like Boomer?”

“Usta weasel.
His trainer retired last year.”

“What happens
when a trainer retires?”

“Another one
takes on the weasel, or he's let go. Didn't find any new trainer for
Cockroach.”

Roarke started
to shrug it off, but it kept niggling. “The cop who retired? Did he work with
anybody?”

“What d'you
think? I got memory chips in my head?”

“Yes.”

Flattered,
Feeney preened. “Well, as a matter of fact, I recall he was partnered with an
old pal of mine. Danny Riley. That was back in, oh, forty-one. Seems like he
cruised with Mari Dirscolli for a few years to about forty-eight. Might be
forty-nine.”

“Never mind,”
Roarke muttered.

“Then he
teamed with Casto a couple years.”

Roarke's
attention snapped back. “Casto? Was he partnered with Casto while he was
Cockroach's trainer?”

“Sure, but
only one leg of a team works as trainer. 'Course,” Feeney murmured as his brow
furrowed. “Usual procedure is to take over your partner's contacts. No record
Casto did. He had his own weasels.”

Roarke told himself
it was his own prejudice, his own ridiculous knee-jerk jealousy. He didn't give
a damn. “Not everything's locked into record. You don't find it coincidental
that two weasels who worked close to Casto got hit, both of them with
connections to Immortality?”

“We aren't
saying Casto had Cockroach. And it's not that coincidental. You're dealing with
illegals here, you got overlaps.”

“What other
connection have you found that links Cockroach to the other murders, other than
Casto?”

“Jesus,
Roarke.” He ran a hand over his face. “You're as bad as Dallas. Look, a lot of
Illegals cops end up with abuse problems. Caste's clean to the bone. Never had
a trace in any of his testing. He's got a good rep, he's coming up for
captaincy, and it's no secret he wants it. He's not going to go messing around
with this kind of shit.”

“Sometimes a
man is just a little bit tempted, Feeney, and sometimes he gives in. You want
to tell me it would be the first time an Illegals cop made a few credits on the
side?”

“No.” Feeney
sighed again. He was sobering up with this kind of talk. And he didn't like it.
“There's nothing to pin on him, Roarke. Dallas was working with him. If he was
a wrong cop, she'd have smelled it. She's like that.”

“She's been
distracted. Off stride,” Roarke murmured, remembering her own words. “Think it
through, Feeney, no matter how fast she moved on this, she always seemed to be
one step off. If someone had known her moves, they might have anticipated her.
Especially someone who thinks like a cop.”

“You don't like
him because he's almost as pretty as you,” Feeney said sourly.

Roarke let
that pass. “How much can you dig up on him tonight?”

“Tonight?
Jesus, you want me to dig shit up on another cop, go into personal records,
because he had a couple of weasels knocked? And you want me to do it tonight?”

Roarke put a
hand on Feeney's shoulder. “We can use my unit.”

“You'll make a
good pair,” Feeney muttered as Roarke steered him through the crowd. “Both a
couple of sharks.”

-=O=-***-=O=-

Eve's vision
wavered as if she'd suddenly stepped over her head into a tankful of water.
Through the ripple, she saw Casto, could smell the faint scent of soap and
sweat on his skin. But she couldn't home in on what he was doing there.

“What's going
on, Casto? We get a call?” Blankly, she looked around for Peabody, saw the
shimmering red drapes that were supposed to add sensuality to a room designed
for quick, cheap sex. “Wait a minute.”

“Just relax.”
He didn't want to give her another dose, not in addition to what she'd been
drinking at her hen party. “The door's locked, Eve, so you can't go anywhere.
You've got a nice buzz on to make it easier all around.” He pushed a
satin-edged pillow behind his back. “It would have been easier still if you'd
just let go. But you didn't. You won't. Jesus Christ, I can't believe you put
the hammer on Lilligas.”

“Who -- what?”

“The florist
on Vegas II. That's cutting it too damn close. I've been using the bastard
myself.”

Her stomach
tilted nastily. When she tasted bile at the back of her throat, she leaned
forward, stuck her head between her knees and concentrated on breathing in and
out.

“Downloads
make some people nauseous. We'll go with something else next time.”

“I missed
you.” She tried to focus on keeping the heavy, greasy food she'd celebrated
with instead of liquor from spewing back up. “I fucking missed you.”

“Yeah.” He
knew she wasn't speaking out of sentiment. “You weren't looking for another
cop. Hey, why should you? And you had your own worries. Broke the rules, Eve.
You know the primary is never, ever supposed to get personally involved. You
were too worried about your friend. I admire that, really, even if it is stupid.”

He took her by
the hair, dragged her head back. After a quick check of her pupils, he decided
the initial dose would hold her for a while. He didn't want to risk overdosing
her. Not until he'd finished.

“And I do
admire you, Eve.”

“You
sonofabitch.” Her voice slurred over her thickened tongue. “You killed them.”

“Each and
every one.” Relaxed, he crossed his feet at the ankles. “It's been hard to hold
it all back, I've got to admit. Rough on the ego not to be able to show a woman
like you what a smart man can accomplish. You know, Eve, I was a little worried
when I learned you were in charge of Boomer.” He reached out, ran a fingertip
from her chin down between her breasts. “I thought I could charm you. Gotta
admit you were attracted.”

“Get your hand
off me.” She slapped out at it, missed by several inches.

“Your depth
perception's off.” He chuckled. “Drugs mess you up, Eve. Take it from me. I see
it every shitty day on the streets. Got sick of seeing it. That's how it
started. All those fancy dudes making their fancy profits and never getting
their manicures sticky. Why not me?”

“For money.”

“What else is
there? I fell into the Immortality connection a couple years back. It was like
kismet. Early days then, took my time, did my homework, used a source on the
Eden Colony to slip me a sample. Poor old Boomer ferreted it out -- my
connection from the Eden Colony.”

“Boomer told
you.”

“Sure he did.
He had something in the Illegals market, he came to me. Didn't know I was
already in on it, not then. I kept it under wraps. I didn't know Boomer had a
copy of the fucking formula. Didn't know he was holding out, hoping for a nice
big chunk.”

“You killed
him. You broke him to pieces.”

“Not until it
was necessary. I never do anything until it's necessary. It was Pandora, you
see, that beautiful bitch.”

Eve listened,
righting to bring her brain and motor skills back into mesh while Casto spun
her a tale of sex, power, and profit.

Pandora had
spotted him at the club. Or they'd spotted each other. She'd liked the idea
that he was a cop, and the kind of cop he was. He'd be able to get his hands on
lots of goodies, wouldn't he? And for her, he'd been happy to do so. He'd been
enchanted with her, obsessed, and yes, addicted. No harm in admitting that now.
His mistake had been to share his information about Immortality with her, to
listen to her ideas for cashing in. Huge profits, she'd predicted. More money
than they could spend in three lifetimes. And youth, beauty, great sex. She'd
become addicted to the drug quickly, always hungered for more, and she had used
him to get it.

But she had
been useful, too. Her career, her fame, had made it easy for her to travel, to
carry more of what was then being manufactured exclusively on Starlight Station
in a little private lab.

Then he'd
discovered she'd brought Redford in on the deal. He'd been furious with her,
but she'd been able to string him along with sex and promises. And the money,
of course.

But things had
started to go wrong. Boomer had pushed for money, had pocketed a bag of the
drug in powder form.

“I should have
been able to handle him. Little wart. Trailed him here. He was flying, running
his mouth, tossing the credits I'd given him to keep him quiet around like
candy. I couldn't know what he'd said to that damn whore.” Casto shrugged. “You
figured that out yourself. Right scenario, Eve, wrong person. I had to take her
out. I was in too deep for mistakes by then. She was just a whore.”

Eve leaned her
head back against the wall. Her head had nearly stopped spinning now. She
thanked God the dose had been light. Casto was on a roll. She could keep him
talking. If she couldn't get the hell out on her own, someone was going to come
looking for her soon.

“Then you went
after Boomer.”

“I couldn't go
to his flop and drag him out. My face is too well known around there. I gave
him a little time, then I contacted him. Told him we'd be able to deal. We
needed him in on our side. He was stupid enough to buy it. Then I had him.”

“You messed
him up first. You didn't kill him quick.”

“I had to find
out how much he'd let out, who he might have talked to. He didn't deal well
with pain, our Boomer. Spilled his guts. I found out about the formula. Really
pissed me off. I wasn't going to mess up his face like the hooker's, but I lost
it. Plain and simple. Got emotionally involved, you could say.”

“You're a cold
bastard,” Eve muttered, making her voice weak and blurry.

“Now that's
just not true, Eve. You ask Peabody.” He grinned, gave her breast a quick tweak
that sent fury and rage cycling to her gut. “I went for DeeDee when I realized
you weren't going to take a nibble. Too wrapped up in that rich Irish bastard
to take a look at a real man. And DeeDee, bless her, was ripe for plucking.
Never could get much out of her on what you were up to, though. DeeDee's got
good cop all over her. Slip a little help into her wine, though, she gets more
cooperative.”

“You drugged
Peabody?”

“Now and then,
just to pump her for any details you might have left out of your official
report. And to keep her sleeping pretty when I had to go out at night. She was
an airtight alibi. Anyway, you know about Pandora. That went pretty much as you
had figured, too. Only I was staking out her place that night. Scooped her up
the minute she came storming out. She wanted to go to that designer's. We'd
pretty much finished up our sexual relationship by then. Just business now. I
figured why not take her? I knew she was working to cut me out of the whole
deal. She wanted it all. She didn't think she needed some street cop hanging
on, even if he was the one to give her the damn stuff to begin with. She knew
about Boomer, too. But that didn't bother her. What did she care about some
dirty alley croucher? And she never thought, never considered that I'd hurt
her.”

“But you did.”

“I took her
where she wanted to go. I'm not really sure if I was going to do it then, but
when I saw the security camera smashed, it seemed like a sign. Then the place
was empty. Just her and me. They'd hang it on the dressmaker, right? Or on the
little lady she'd had a fight with. So I hit her. The first strike took her
down, but she was up again. That shit made her strong and mean. I had to keep
hitting her, and hitting her. Fucking blood flying. Then she was down for good.
Your little friend came in, and you know the rest.”

“Yeah, I know
the rest. You went back and took the box with the tabs. Why did you take her
palm 'link?”

“She always
used it to call me. She might've recorded the numbers.”

“Cockroach?”

“Just
something extra in the mix. To confuse things. Cockroach was always willing to
sample a new product. You were hammering away, and I wanted a hit where I was
well alibied, just in case. So I had DeeDee.”

“You got to
Jerry, too, didn't you?”

“Easy as a
walk on the beach. Get one of the VT's stirred up with a quick buzz, wait for
the chaos. I had a reviver for Jerry, brought her around and had her out of
there before she knew what was happening. I promised her a fix, and she cried
like a baby. Morphine first so she wouldn't get any idea about not cooperating.
Then Immortality, then a dash of Zeus. She died happy, Eve. Thanking me.”

“You're a
humanitarian, Casto.”

“No, Eve, I'm
a selfish man looking out for number one. And I'm not ashamed of it. I've got
twelve years on the streets, wading through blood, vomit, and come. I've paid
my dues. This drug's going to give me everything I've ever wanted. I'll take my
captaincy, and with that kind of connection, I'll feed profits from the drug
into a nice numbered account for four or five years, then I'll retire to a tropical
island and sip mai tais.”

He was winding
down now, she could tell it from the tone of his voice. The excitement, the
arrogance had cooled to practicality. “You'll have to kill me first.”

“I know that,
Eve. It's a damn shame. I all but handed you Fitzgerald, but you just wouldn't
let it be.” With what might have been affection, he brushed a hand over her
hair. “I'm going to make it easy on you. I've got something here that'll take
you down gently. You won't feel anything.”

“That's damn
considerate of you, Casto.”

“I owe you
that much, honey. Cop to cop. If you'd let it lay, after your friend got off,
but you wouldn't. I wish things had been different, Eve. I had a real taste for
you.” He leaned close, so close she felt his breath waft over her lips as
though he were indeed about to taste her.

Slowly, she
lifted her lashes, looking through them into his face. “Casto,” she said
softly.

“Yeah. Just
relax now. Won't take long.” He reached for his pocket.

“Fuck you.”
She brought her knee up hard. Her depth perception was still slightly skewed.
Rather than connecting with his groin she knocked solidly into his chin. He
went backward off the bed, and the pressure injector in his hand skittered over
the floor.

They both
dived for it.

-=O=-***-=O=-

“Where the
hell is she? She wouldn't have walked out on her own party.” Mavis tapped her
spiked heels impatiently as she continued to scan the club. “And she's the only
one of us still sober.”

“Ladies'
room?” Nadine suggested, half-heartedly tugging her blouse over her lacy bra.

“Peabody's
checked twice. Dr. Mira, she wouldn't have made a run for it, would she? I know
she's nervous, but -- “

“She's not the
running kind.” Though her head was still revolving, Mira struggled to keep her
speech coherent. “We'll look around again. She's here somewhere. It's just so
crowded.”

“Still looking
for the bride?” Grinning widely, Crack lumbered up. “Looks like she just wanted
a last ride. The dude over there saw her slip into one of the privacy rooms
with a cowboy type.”

“Dallas?”
Mavis snorted at the thought of it. “No way.”

“So, she's
celebrating.” Crack lifted his shoulders.

“Got plenty
more rooms, ladies, if you got an itch.”

“Which room?”
Peabody demanded, sober now that she'd thrown up everything in her stomach
including, she was sure, a good portion of the lining.

“Number five.
Hey, you want a gang bang, I can round up some nice young boys for you. All
sizes, all shapes, all colors.” He shook his head as they marched off, and
decided that he'd better go along to keep the peace.

-=O=-***-=O=-

Eve's fingers
slipped off the injector, and the elbow to her cheekbone sent pain grinding
down her face and into her teeth. Still, she had first blood, and the shock of
finding her ready to fight had shaken him.

“You should
have given me a bigger dose.” She followed up the statement with a short-armed
punch to his windpipe. “I wasn't drinking tonight, asshole.” She managed to
roll him over. “I'm getting married tomorrow.” She punctuated this by bloodying
his nose. “That was for Peabody, you bastard.”

He caught her
in the ribs and winded her. She felt the injector pass over her arm and heaved
up by the hips to kick. She would never know if it was blind luck, her lack of
depth perception, or his own miscalculation, but he dodged to avoid the gut
thrust, and her feet, coming up like pistons, caught him square in the face.

His eyes
rolled back in his head; his head hit the floor with an ominous and satisfying
thud.

Still, he'd
managed to get more of the drug into her. She crawled, drifting in the
sensation of swimming through thick, golden syrup. She made it to the door, but
the lock and its key code appeared to be twelve feet above her grasping hand.

Then the door
burst open and all hell broke loose.

She felt
herself lifted, patted down. Someone was ordering in no-nonsense tones that she
be given air. Giggles bubbled up in her. She was flying now, was all she could
think.

“Bastard
killed them,” she kept saying. “Bastard killed them all. I missed it. Where's
Roarke?”

Her eyelids
were pulled back and she would have sworn her eyeballs rolled like fiery little
marbles. She heard the words “health center” and began to fight like a tiger.

-=O=-***-=O=-

Roarke
descended the stairs, a grim set to his mouth. He knew Feeney was still
upstairs, huffing and blowing, but he was convinced. A business deal of the
size of Immortality's potential required an expert and an inside connection.
Casto filled both those bills.

Eve might not
want to hear it, either, so he wouldn't mention it. Yet. Feeney would have
three weeks to poke around while they were on their honeymoon. If there was
indeed going to be a honeymoon.

He heard the
door open and angled his chin. They were going to have this out once and for
all, he determined. Here and now. He took two more steps, then was down the
rest of them in a dead run.

“What the hell
happened to her? She's bleeding.” There was blood in his own eye as he snatched
a limp Eve from the arms of a seven-foot black in a silver loincloth.

As everybody
began talking at once, Mira clapped her hands like a schoolteacher in a room of
rowdy students. “She needs a quiet room. The MTs treated her for the drug, but
she'll have some residual effects. And she wouldn't let them deal with the cuts
and bruises.”

Roarke's face
went stony. “What drug?” His gaze latched on Mavis. “Where the hell did you
take her?”

“Not her
fault.” Still glassy-eyed, Eve wrapped her arms around Roarke's neck. “Casto.
It was Casto, Roarke. Know that?”

“As a matter
of fact -- “

“Stupid --
stupid to miss it. Sloppy. Can I go to bed now?”

“Take her
upstairs, Roarke,” Mira said calmly. “I can tend to her. Believe me, she'll be
fine.”

“I'll be
fine,” Eve agreed as she floated up the stairs. “I'll tell you everything. I
can always tell you, can't I? 'Cause you love me, you sap.”

There was only
one piece of information Roarke wanted at the moment. He laid Eve on the bed,
took a good look at her bruised cheek and swollen mouth. “Is he dead?”

“Nope. I just
beat the hell out of him.” She smiled, caught the look in his eye, and shook
her head slowly. “Nuh-uh, no way. Don't even think about it. We're getting
married in a couple hours.”

He smoothed
the hair back from her face. “Are we?”

“I figured it
out.” It was hard to concentrate, but it was important. She lifted her hands,
cupped his face to keep it in focus. “It's not a formality. And it's not a
contract.”

“What is it?”

“It's a
promise. It's not so hard to promise to do something you really want, anyway.
And if I'm lousy at being a wife, you'll just have to live with it. I don't
break my promises. And there's this one other thing.”

He could see
her slipping, and shifted slightly so that Mira could tend the cut on her
cheek. “What other thing, Eve?”

“I love you.
Sometimes it makes my stomach hurt, but I kind of like it. Tired now, come to
bed. Love you.”

He eased back
to let Mira get on with her tending. “It's all right for her to sleep?”

“Best thing
for her. She'll be fine when she wakes up. Maybe a little hungover, which seems
unfair since she didn't drink anything. She said she wanted a clear head for
tomorrow.”

“Did she?” She
didn't look calm when she slept, he noted. She never did. “Will she remember
any of that? What she was telling me?”

“She may not,”
Mira said cheerfully. “But you will, and that should do the job.”

He nodded and
stepped back. She was safe again. One more time safe. He glanced over at
Peabody. “Officer, can I count on you to fill me in on the details?”

-=O=-***-=O=-

Eve did have a
hangover, and wasn't pleased about it. Her stomach was tied in greasy knots,
and her jaw was sore. Between Mira and Trina's wizardry with cosmetics, the
bruises didn't show. As brides went, she supposed, studying herself, she was
passable.

“You look mag,
Dallas.” Mavis sighed and took a slow turn around Leonardo's finest hour. The
dress sleeked down, as it was meant to, the bronze tone adding warmth to Eve's
skin, the lines highlighting her long, lean form. Its very simplicity made the
statement that it was the woman within who counted.

“The garden's
packed with people,” Mavis went on cheerily as Eve's stomach roiled. “Did you
look out the window?”

“I've seen
people before.”

“There was
media doing flybys earlier. I don't know whose button Roarke pushed, but
they've stopped.”

“Goodie.”

“You're all
right, aren't you? Dr. Mira said you shouldn't have any dangerous aftereffects,
but -- “

“I'm fine.” It
was only partly a lie. “Having it closed, knowing all the facts, the truth
makes it easier.” She thought of Jerry and suffered. She looked at Mavis, the
glowing face, the silver-tipped hair, and smiled. “You and Leonardo still
planning to cohabitate?”

“At my place,
temporarily. We're looking for bigger digs, one where he'll have room to work.
And I'm going to start making the club rounds again.” She took a box from the
bureau, handed it over. “Roarke sent this up for you.”

“Yeah?”
Opening it, Eve felt twin tugs of pleasure and alarm. The necklace was perfect,
of course. Two drapes of twisted copper studded with colored stones.

“I happened to
mention it.”

“I bet you
did.” With a sigh, Eve draped it on, then fastened the long matching drops to
her ears. And looked, she thought, like a stranger. A pagan warrior.

“There's one
more thing.”

“Oh, Mavis, I
can't stand one more thing. He's got to understand that I -- “ She broke off as
Mavis turned from the long white box on the table, took out a sweeping spray of
white flowers -- petunias. Simple, backyard-variety petunias.

“He always
knows,” she murmured. All the muscles in her stomach loosened, all the nerves
died away. “He just knows.”

“I guess when
somebody understands you that way, that, you know, intimately, it makes you
pretty lucky.”

“Yeah.” Eve
took the flowers, cradled them. The reflection in the mirror didn't look like a
stranger. It looked, she thought, like Eve Dallas on her wedding day. “Roarke's
going to swallow his tongue when he gets a load of me.”

She laughed,
grabbed Mavis's arm, and rushed out to make her promises.

eBook Info

Identifier:

J.D. Robb - Eve Dallas 03 Immortal In Death v1.2

Title:

Immortal In Death

Creator:

J.D. Robb

Copyrights:

Hmmm, looks like another genie got out of the bottle

Publisher:

Me

Subject:

Mystery And Detective